Art of Betrayal
by casus17
Summary: Dean and Sam go to investigate just why a towns citizens are reappearing over America in supernatural circumstances. And they have to do it before who or whatever's behind it realizes there's hunters in town. Followon to Fight Club. Rated for language FIN
1. Chapter 1: Setting up the Hunt

**Disclaimer:** If I owned it… if kisses were wishes… hmm, kissing Jensen Ackles.

**Warning:** Rated for language, though not in this chapter. And this one ended up a lot longer than any other story I've written to date, so if you're not in it for the long haul… stay around as long as you want.

**Author's Note:** So, this is FINALLY the next instalment of my as yet unnamed series, the one I don't think I'll ever name cause it's just random interconnecting stories. But it IS the sequel to Fight Club, just in time for the end of Supernatural… in Australia at least. Oh, and can I just say (of course I can, it's my page), the finale? Freaking awesome all you dudes and dudettes! Bring on Season 3! Oh, and I should tell you, since it's set after Fight Club, it's basically before about Everybody Loves A Clown, so most of season 2 hasn't happened.

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ART OF BETRAYAL

**Chapter 1:**

Dean slipped a finger into the minimal space between his neck and his shirt, taking the chance to inhale a deep breath. Grimacing at the rough cotton, he shifted slightly on the hard chair, sure he was never going to be comfortable again. Or at least until he got this damn suit off.

Sighing and giving up the futile task of trying to make the collar bigger with sheer strength, he glanced across at where Sam lounged in the other chair. That was the only word Dean could find to describe that slouching ease his little brother seemed to possess. How Sam had managed to find a suit that fit him, the sasquatch, so well, was beyond Dean, while he could barely lift his arms beyond his shoulders, and the pants needed a belt to stay up.

A policeman chose that moment to finally enter his office where Dean and Sam were waiting. He strode past, a tower of authority that made Dean want to snicker. A warning look from Sam told him he wasn't hiding his amusement half as well as he should be.

"I'm Officer Morgan. You've come a long way for a story," the man greeted, taking his seat on the other side of the desk. Sam shrugged.

"Well, it is interesting," the younger man began, sharing a look with Dean. "A Jane Doe found murdered, and no one has any idea who she is. Until someone on the other side of the country finds her photo on the net and calls in, anyway."

Morgan nodded. "You're right, it is… interesting. Laura Jennings has… was missing for only two weeks. How she ended up in Vegas, I have no idea."

Neither did Dean or Sam. Which was why they were there, in Lafayette, Indiana. Or rather, why Joshua had sent them there, after they had called him looking for a new job after the vampires in Cromwell.

"So no one thought she was going there?" Dean asked. "She had no friends there, right? No family? No reason to go."

The man shook his head. "Everyone she knew was here. She had never left here before she went missing. Born here, raised here… died in Vegas."

"Who did she associate with, here?" Sam asked cautiously. "I mean, the way she was found." He shared a looked with Dean. "Do you know how she was found?" They did.

Morgan nodded, his eyes suddenly hard. "Yeah, I do. Tied to a stone table, naked. Throat and wrists slit. Like some kind of ritual. Like she was…"

"Sacrificed," Sam finished. "Was she into the occult?"

The cop chuckled grimly. "The occult? No, she wasn't into that." He sighed deeply, looking suddenly old and cynical. "Miss Jennings was… quite popular around here. It's amazing how many people have forgotten what she actually did before she went missing. What her last job was."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Miss Jennings wasn't exactly the most ethical woman in town," Morgan told them. "She worked in a place called The Jiggly Room."

Dean and Sam shared another look, unsure what the man was hinting at. The cop noticed and gave another chuckle. "Come on boys. You're both hormone driven lads, no doubt."

To Dean's later surprise, Sam was the first to figure it out. His eyes went wide. "No," he drawled.

Morgan obviously saw the meaning in Sam's eyes, because he nodded. "Yes. 'fraid so."

Dean glanced at his younger brother. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked.

* * *

"A strip club?" Dean had to confirm again, just to see Sam's expression. "This place is a strip club?"

Sam sighed tightly from where he sat at the table on his laptop. "Yes, Dean. And no. It's not a strip club. Exotic dance is the term I think they prefer."

Dean snorted. "Who cares? It's still hot women taking off their clothes. We're checking it out."

"It's got nothing to do with the case, Dean. Anyway, I'm not going to a strip club."

Dean grinned. "Exotic dance is the term I think they prefer, Sammy. And it's got everything to do with the case. Laura Jennings worked there. It could be the reason she was taken."

"What, taken by someone against stripping? Kind of hypocritical considering she ended up in Vegas, don't you think?" He shook his head. "Besides, strip clubs aren't all they've cracked up to be, Dean. We're not going."

Dean frowned. "How would you know?"

The finger-tapping paused for a moment, and a second later Sam started blushing. Dean felt his grin widen until it was painful.

"No freaking way, dude." He jumped off the bed and practically leapt into the seat opposite his little brother. "You've been in a strip club? You?"

Sam sat back, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Look, it was only once. A mate's twenty-first, when I was in college. And I don't really want a second experience."

Dean leaned back. "Wow," he stated. "I can't believe you've been in one. And you didn't tell me."

Sam didn't answer, just went back to the computer. His face was still bright red. For a while the only noise in the motel room was the tapping on the keyboard. Dean studied his little brother.

"So what was it called?" the older man asked after a while. There was no answer. "Was it fun?" Silence met his ears. "Did you get laid?"

"Dean!" Sam finally spat, throwing his hands up. "Would you not while I'm trying to figure out what's going on! If you want to be annoying, go do it somewhere where I'm not!

Dean just grinned, but eased back. "So, what have you found out? Found anything on the other disappearances?"

Laura Jennings hadn't been the first person to go missing. Nor had she been the last. There had been twenty over the last year, all having gone missing from Lafayette. Three, only three, had turned up, as far as they knew. All in different parts of the country. Laura Jennings in Las Vegas, a nameless middle-aged man in Baton Rouge, and another young woman found beheaded in Seattle. All had been found in circumstances related to the supernatural. Laura, sacrificed, the man mauled by 'wolves', while they had it from a reliable source that the young woman had been killed by a hunter, who had been positive she was a vampire.

In all it was enough to send them to Lafayette, looking for the supernatural magnet the town obviously had. Once they had found out Joshua had sent others to check out each victim.

Sam sighed. "No, nothing. I've been trying to get into the police files, but it's like they're blocked. I can't get in. Someone doesn't want us reading them. And I don't know who," he added, anticipating Dean's question.

"What about newspaper articles?" Dean asked instead, getting up to grab a mug of coffee. "Any clues from those?"

"I haven't looked through them yet. Between the block on the files, and you annoying me, I haven't had a chance."

Dean growled to himself as he realized the room had no coffee. "All right. You okay to do that? I'm going to go and get some food and coffee. What do you want?"

Sam muttered something inconsequential as Dean walked out the door, shaking his head. At least Sam was back to his normal self, even if his normal self did incapacitate Dean's… urges to have fun. But Sam was back after what the demon had done to him.

Dean shivered as he took his hand off the handle. After watching the sun rise over that abandoned house in Cromwell, the one the demon had used Sam's body to burn, his little brother had confessed everything. And Dean had had no idea how Sam had even been alive. As in truly alive. If he had been forced to watch his mother and his girlfriend burn over and over again, while feeling the demon's satisfaction at the same time, Dean knew he would have gone insane. That bothered him far more than the demon ripping into Sam's mind, tearing it apart.

The day seemed less bright as Dean forced his mind to turn from the past. Cromwell was a long way behind them, and they had these disappearances to concern themselves over. At least, after he got something to eat.

The coffee shop was busy, and Dean wished he had brought some kind of badge so he could shove to the front of the line. But he waited out the ten minutes it took to get what he wanted, and turned to go.

A turning head caught his attention, someone ducking out the door. Frowning, Dean quickened his step, trying to reach the entrance. He knew that blond head, he was sure of it.

Only when he reached the door the person had gone. Shaking his head, Dean shoved it to the back if his mind, taking a sip of his coffee as he made his way back to the motel.

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"Got anything?" he asked, setting down the tray near Sam's elbow. The younger man nodded, sighing deeply.

"Your dreams come true," Sam answered. Dean frowned down on him.

"What are you talking about?" the older man asked, sitting down

"I started looking through the articles, like you suggested. And I found a pattern. Or a common point between each disappearance at least."

"So what is it?" Dean asked, finding himself not really in the mood for Sam's theatrical sense when it came to divulging what he had dug up in his research.

Sam seemed to sense it, frowning slightly before he flipped through some papers. "Okay, so disappearee number one was Billy Johns. He went missing about a year ago. He was the guy they found in Baton Rouge."

"You know disappearee isn't a word, right?" Dean interjected. Sam gave him a small glare.

"Like it matters. The point is, he was a regular at this bar a few streets over from your wanted destination."

"And what's the point behind that?" the older man demanded.

"I'm getting there. Then there was this guy who disappeared a month and a bit ago. A drifter who stopped by the same bar. He got into a fight, and a day later he was missing as well."

"So they both had a connection to this bar," Dean summed up. "What was Laura Jennings' connection with it?"

Sam shook his head. "None that I could find. But you haven't let me finish." He shuffled through some more papers. "Five months ago, Holly Bristly disappeared. She was an employee at a coffee shop on the other side of town. A month ago, a guy, a college student by the name of, ah… Jordan Freeman, he went missing. He had been working there since Holly went missing. And there was also a regular there who went missing, about a month and a half after the first _disappearee_. The same woman Joshua said they connected with vampires."

Dean frowned. "Okay, now I'm lost. What the hell's the connection there? And why does it lead to my dreams come true?"

"Both places are owned by the same man. Isaac Mahone. And get this. He owns The Jiggly Room. From which I know of three people who went missing. Including this guy, the last one to go missing, two weeks ago who disappeared the day of his wedding. It had been his buck's night the night before, and guess where they celebrated?"

"The Jiggly Room?" Dean hazarded. He frowned again. "But if they all have a connection to this guy Mahone, does it have anything to do with us?"

Sam shrugged, tapping each paper into a neat pile. "Who knows? But we know at least three of the people who disappeared from here had some connection to the supernatural. And I have a feeling if we dig further we'll find more results. And as far as I can tell, each missing person had some connection to this Isaac Mahone."

Dean shrugged. "Okay. I guess that means we have to check him out. As soon as possible. And it's almost night."

He struggled to keep the grin off his face. Sam stared stonily at him. "Just let it loose Dean."

"Let what loose?" he asked. Sam continued to just stare at him. A moment's silence filled the room before Dean grinned.

"Yeah, okay. It is pretty exciting."

"For you maybe. I think with my upstairs brain, while you apparently don't have one. Besides, I bet you've had more excitement for free."

Dean's grin faltered for a moment. "Okay, you're probably right. Like this barmaid in -."

"Dean! I don't want to know." He got up and went over to his bags.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, watching him.

"Getting ready to go to this club. You can't go dressed like that."

Dean grinned again, though it was nowhere near as wide. Sam was probably right. More likely the idea was just appealing to him. He got up and emptied his duffle bag, hoping he actually had something he could wear.

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And yes, The Jiggly Room is the name of a real strip club. No, I've never been there. Hope you like, and if you didn't, stay tuned for chapter 2 anyway!


	2. Chapter 2: Unexpected Finds

**Warning:** Swearing in the chapter, and a little visit to a strip club. If it's not your thing… don't worry, they won't be there forever.

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Chapter 2: Unexpected Finds

The music thumped in Sam's head and the lights continued to flick over his eyes, making his headache worse. He swore it had begun the moment he set foot in the damn place. Or maybe while they had waited outside. Various disappearances apparently hadn't had much impact on the place's popularity in the city. Probably each disappearance had been too far apart for people to make a general connection.

He was sitting at the bar, pretending to watch his drink while really watching the club via the mirror in front of him. He was trying to ignore the half-naked women dotted around the place, and instead watched the gatherings of men around each stage. Dean was in one of them, not looking half so excited as he had before walking in. But Sam wasn't watching Dean. He was watching the man sitting in a corner sectioned off with diaphanous curtains. He was surrounded by beautiful women and three blocky men that Sam assumed were guards. He was tall but solid, salon-tanned skin, short and curly brown hair with a thin beard lining his jaw. His eyes were dark as well, almost hooded despite a flattish face. Sam knew from his research that that was Isaac Mahone. And from the instant the hunter had laid eyes on him, he hadn't liked him.

Sam sighed, though even he couldn't hear it over the music, and took another sip from his beer. And found it to be empty. Sighing again, he twirled the bottle around his fingers, hoping a barmaid would take her time before coming to him.

He looked up into the mirror, catching Dean's eye. The older man rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the woman on the stage. To Sam's relief no one was stripping yet, and wouldn't for some time. But the woman supposedly occupying Dean's interest was certainly wrapping herself in some… provocative positions.

He shifted his eyes back to Mahone. And frowned before he could help himself. He was sure the man had been watching him. But no, why would Mahone have any interest in him? Unless he did have something to do with the supernatural and knew a hunter when he saw one. He supposed he would find out soon enough.

"Want another one, honey?" a voice suddenly asked. "Or you just planning on spinning it round in your hand?"

Sam looked up at the blonde girl in front of him, plastering a smile on his face. And watched in shock as hers dropped.

She leaned in, over the bar, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "What the hell are you doing here, Sam?"

His jaw dropped. Who was she… blonde hair, blue eyes… He recognised her, but he couldn't remember from where. "I know you, don't I?" he said. And felt guilty as her face dropped.

"I know, you haven't seen me in a while… wait, you can see? You can see! Wow, when did you get your sight back?"

He hadn't thought it possible, but his jaw dropped further. Suddenly he recognised her, and leaned further across the counter. "Anya? What the hell are you doing here?"

She scowled at him. "What does it look like, Sam? I'm working."

His eyebrows rose. "This is a far cry from…" He looked around. "From hunting."

She looked almost ready to hit him. "I am on a hunt, moron. Unless you're just here for the décor, I'm guessing it's the same hunt you're on."

He felt himself blush. "Oh. Okay, yeah, that makes sense." Suddenly his eyes narrowed. "How long have you been here?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Two weeks. We arrived a few days after that guy went missing."

"How'd you find out about it so soon?" he asked. Not that he would ever admit it, but his pride was a little wounded. He and Dean prided themselves on being good hunters – after all they had gone through, he doubted they would ever do anything else. Now there was a dampening thought.

She grinned, leaning back slightly. But before she could answer another woman came up, a confident smile on her face. She looked at Sam, suggesting everything and promising nothing with her eyes.

"Keeping all the hotties to yourself there, Charlotte?" the new woman asked. Anya grinned.

"Look at him, Paula. Wouldn't you?"

Sam managed to grin as Paula looked at him, shrugging. He ignored Anya's scowl. "I was just asking… Charlotte, was it? I was asking her for another beer. This one's empty." He twirled it around to prove his point. "We got talking and… hit it off."

Paula smiled. "Ain't that cute. Hang on honey, I'll grab your beer for you. Charlotte, earn some money would you."

The suggestion sounded a lot like a order, and Sam was only a little shocked to watch Anya scurry off. But not before she mouthed some final words at him behind Paula's back.

The woman brought his beer and left. Sam studied the drink for ten minutes, anxiously waiting for the time to pass. Then, as he saw Anya slip out the back, he got off his stool and crossed the room, careful not to let anyone see him following 'Charlotte'.

She was waiting for him with her arms crossed, clearly angry. Whether it was at him or Paula, Sam didn't know, but she did seem to soften when she saw him. Or rather, when she saw him see her.

"How long have you been able to see?" she asked. Sam shrugged, immediately uncomfortable.

"My sight started coming back about two and a half months ago. It's been clear for maybe half that." Only five weeks since his father had died. The thought stung but he held back the grief.

"It's amazing," she muttered softly, almost too softly for him to hear. Louder, she said, "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Same as you. Working a job. Me and Dean have been in town since this morning. A friend of ours found three of the missing people, all in different parts of the country, all killed in different supernatural ways."

She nodded. "We heard of one. And." She gave a weak grin. "We were already here when we heard it. Figured the number of disappearances meant it was worth looking into."

"What have you found out so far?" he asked. "And where's Ash?" He couldn't forget her twin brother. Together they had helped him rescue Dean from Eve and the demons. Saved his life. Of course, he had saved their's as well, so it wasn't like he owed them anything.

Anya was shaking her head. "Not much. Obviously you've already figured out they all had a basic connection to Mahone. And that's why I'm working here. But besides that, we don't have much. The bastard is hard to get to."

Sam nodded. "Well, we should be able to figure out what's going on. If the four of us-."

A sudden bang interrupted him, and they both jumped, spinning to face the door. A middle-aged man had walked through, or stumbled, causing the door to bang against the wall. He blinked up at them, looking from Sam to Anya, who had a disgusted look on her face.

"That's where you went, Charlotte," he mumbled loudly. Sam could smell the alcohol from where he stood. "You're a real pretty girl, Charlotte. Come and do a little dance for me."

Again it was an order, but this time Anya stood up straighter. "I'll be back out in a minute, Mr Yates."

The man stumbled forward again, smiling calmly, like he was looking at an invalid. "Come on now, Charlotte. Let's see those pretty hips move."

Sam growled before he knew what he was doing. The noise caught the man's attention and he turned back to the hunter, cooing grin gone. "Got a problem, boy!" the man snapped as his eyes travelled up. "Man, you're a tall fucker aren't you."

Anya stepped forward before Sam could retort. "I'll be back out in a moment, Mr Yates. I'm just on my break."

Yates turned back to the young woman, but the anger remained in his eyes. "Break's over, girl. Get your fucking ass out there and dance for me, bitch!"

If the older man hadn't been drunk, Sam swore he would have hit him. As it was he had taken a step forward before Anya grabbed his arm, giving him a look that clearly said she would handle this herself.

"Mr Yates -." She didn't get a chance to say anything though as the drunk took three steps forward.

Sam had moved before the man finished his first step, planting himself squarely in front of Anya. He didn't like the way Yates was staring at her, or how even his stumbles forward seemed threatening.

Yates narrowed his eyes, though Sam wasn't half sure it wasn't so the older man could see him better.

"Step off boy or you'll find yourself knee deep in trouble. And with the height your knees are, that's a shitload of trouble."

"I think you better back out that door, Mr Yates," Sam said in a near snarl. He took a step forward, managing to loom over the drunk. Yates took an involuntary step back. "Else I won't need to find trouble. It'll be right in front of me."

Yates stood there for a moment, apparently wavering with indecision. Fear and anger took turns flushing his face, until finally it seemed fear won out. The man took another two steps back, an embarrassed glare plastered on. He seemed to be muttering to himself as he spun and left the room.

Sam relaxed and turned to find Anya staring at him with her arms folded. She was clearly not happy.

"What?" he asked, unsure of what he had done.

"Nice, Sam, real nice," she snapped sarcastically. "Did you have to go threaten the poor man?"

Sam looked at her with confusion. "Excuse me? He had no right to talk to you like that?"

"You don't know this place, Sam," she shot back. "It's not a place with high standards on equal opportunity. Ma… he's a pig," she said flatly, referring to Mahone. "He doesn't really care what happens to his girls. In here we haven't really got that much say."

"So you really would have gone and danced happily in his lap?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't dance. Well, I haven't. And I don't plan on it." Her face softened. "It's not that bad. Actually, it looks kinda exciting," she grinned. "Besides, a lot of these girls have no other way of living day to day, especially if they want to stay off the street," she added in a sad mutter.

Sam sighed. "Sorry," he told her, not really sure what he was saying it for. He just felt it was right if he wanted to stop arguing with her. Dean might think people were crazier than demons, but Sam _knew_ women were crazier than men.

She shrugged. "It's okay. But I don't think you should stick around much longer. Come see me and Ash tomorrow. We're staying at the Sleep-Easy. Room nine."

Sam nodded, stepping in beside her as she began walking towards the door. "Where is Ash, anyway?" he asked. "And what does he think of you working here?"

She grinned. "He hates it, obviously. He's outside at the moment, watching everyone as they come in. He would have seen you two already."

Sam nodded, stepping in front of Anya so he could walk through the door. "I'll look for him on the way out," he began as he turned to watch her come through. She looked up as he spoke, and her eyes went wide.

"Watch out!" she cried, looking over his shoulder. Adrenaline pumping quickly, Sam turned just in time to avoid the bottle crashing down on his head. Instead it hit his shoulder, and he cried out in pain as he felt it immediately begin to bruise.

Grabbing a hold of the throbbing body part, he completed his turn, coming face to face with Yates, who had a sickly look to his eyes as he realized his ambush hadn't worked. But either the alcohol was numbing his fear, or he was just more desperate than either hunter had anticipated, because he leapt at Sam before the young man had regained his balance.

They both crashed to the floor, Yates on top, and Sam growled mentally at himself for letting a drunk man get the better of him. Deciding instantly not to tell Dean, he easily blocked the punch, grabbing hold of the wrist and twisting until Yates turned away, grimacing with the pain. Sam pushed the man off of him, getting to his feet with grace before spinning and letting Yates go. Just as Sam had hoped, the drunk tumbled through the door into the club, running into a pack of men. Sam followed somewhat more stately, glaring to himself and rubbing his shoulder. It was still throbbing.

What Sam hadn't anticipated was the fact that Yates might be a little more than acquainted with the men he had sprawled into. He got his first hint when the five men, as well as Yates, turned to face him. Yates was grinning, while the others were looking angrily impassive.

He stopped at the door, getting the feeling he might be in a spot of bother. Then all feeling stopped as four of them rushed at him, and action took over.

Sidestepping so he could face off against two less, Sam kept his eyes on all of them. Or did so as well as he could. It was hard with two in front of him, two trying to stop themselves from running into a wall, while Yates and the leftover seemed destined to watch.

Sam made quick calculations and decided things weren't so bad for him. He knew Anya couldn't get involved without giving herself away. Dean was apparently nowhere to be seen and the music was covering all noise. Including his own thoughts. The only thing going for him was that they were all pretty drunk. He was sure he could take them.

All this took little more than a second before he found himself being rushed at. The two in front of him came at him, one from either side, and the hunter waited for them to make the first move.

The taller one covered the ground quicker, swinging aimlessly as soon as he got close enough. Sam ducked, making a small noise of disgust as the man left himself wide open for the hunter's sharp jab to the bottom of his ribs. Grunting, the taller man doubled over and Sam stood up straighter in order to drive a knee into the guy's face. Blood began flowing as the guy fell to the ground.

The small altercation – from Sam's point of view – allowed time for the shorter man to reach them. Stepping over a leg, this guy, too, punched. Sam blocked once, stepping nimbly away from the guy lying on the ground so he had room to move. Then he lashed out himself, punching the shorter guy quickly in the face before following up with two punches on the stomach and an uppercut, hitting the cheek bone hard enough to feel something go wrong. The guy fell away, clutching at his face. Two down, four to go.

Those four were closing in, Yates and the leftover having decided to join in. And they had used the time wisely. Before Sam could even recover from knocking out his second opponent, someone grabbed him from behind in a tight bear-hug while another rushed in from the front.

Instantly Sam drove his head back, smashing hard into the other guy's face. Somehow it wasn't enough though, and Sam had to reconsider tactics. And he had to do it quickly before leftover got close enough to hit him.

Gathering his stomach muscles, Sam pushed off the ground, kicking out with both feet at the guy closing in, the guy who had stood with Yates at first. The impact knocked all three over, and Sam rolled to his feet quickly the moment he was released from the bear-hug. And found himself back on the floor a moment later as something smashed into his back.

Twisting to land on his shoulder so he could roll over, Sam looked around to see Yates holding a bar stool and looking triumphant. Sam sneered at him as he kicked from the floor, heel landing directly in Yates' groin. The man doubled over, dropping the stool as he fell to his knees, clutching at himself.

Sam scanned around him quickly before getting to his feet. But by then the guy he had first knocked down was back up, blood running from a broken nose. And he wasn't looking happy. Add to that the fact that two of them had found pool cues somewhere – Sam never could figure out where, considering there was no pool table in the club that he could see – and the ante had certainly been upped.

Two of them began closing in, far more cautious now they knew he had skills. One held his cue like a bat, while the other raised his fists, though he looked afraid to use them. Sam shrugged and put his own fists up.

The guy with the cue lashed out first. Sam jumped back, and the cue whistled past an inch from his chest. The swing spun the guy around and Sam closed in, kicking out. His foot landed directly on the guy's chest, forcing him back into his partner. They both stumbled to the ground in their drunken state and Sam took a step back to recover.

Or tried to.

"Sam, duck!" he suddenly heard Dean call. He hadn't really needed the warning. Or he had, but he needed it a moment earlier. The instant before he settled on his feet to await the next attack, he felt something hurtling towards him. He ducked at the same time as Dean's warning. It just wasn't fast enough.

Something sharp and round glanced off his head as he dipped, and the world went black.

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Just so you all know Anya and Ash are characters from my story 'Into Hell's Fires'. If you didn't like them… well, tough, cause I've already written the story. But keep reading, cause… well, just cause. Please!


	3. Chapter 3: Hooking Up

**Disclaimer:** See… well, any other story I've written.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to all who reviewed, mucho appreciation. Hope you like this next chapter, now that it's getting into the hunt more. Still not much action, but it's coming.

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Chapter 3: Hooking Up

When he came to a second later he was on his back, looking up as Yates was getting ready to drive a third pool cue axe-style into his chest.

Only he appeared to have some difficulty. He pulled his hands forward… but the cue stayed put. Both Sam and Yates gaped, and the drunk man spun in time to catch the butt of the cue in the chin. Yates' eyes rolled back into his head and he sagged to the floor.

Sam took Dean's hand and his brother hoisted him to his feet. Together they faced the remaining men.

They had no need. The security guards finally decided to show up, glancing almost lazily between each group of men and the two on the floor. The music had finally stopped, and everyone seemed to be watching them.

"Enough!" the biggest guard shouted needlessly. Sam winced as his headache, forgotten during the fight but aggravated by the blow, exploded under his skull. "All of you out!"

Sam shrugged, dropping his fists and catching Anya's eye. Dean seemed to be trying hard not to laugh as they were both escorted from the club. Two guards stalked their every step until they had gone ten feet from the club. Sam heaved a sigh of relief. Until Dean's laughter burst, and he doubled over, near hysterics.

Sam rolled his eyes, before wincing and putting a hand to where the cue had hit him. At least it had only been a glancing blow; he would probably be dead if it hadn't.

Dean was still laughing as Sam walked off on him, but the older man straightened and followed, still chuckling.

"Figures you'd be the one to get into a fight, Sammy," Dean teased. "See, I am doing you some good after all."

They reached the Impala and Sam leaned against the car, pulling his hand away from the growing bump. There was a touch of blood on his hand.

"How hard did he hit you?" Dean asked, suddenly all serious now that he had seen the blood. He returned from the trunk, carrying a flashlight and their first-aid kit.

"Not hard enough," Sam answered dryly. He spied two guys literally being thrown out of the Jiggly Room and pushed Dean away before he could get started. "Not here, Dean. Not unless you want a rematch."

Dean shrugged and actually started for the club. Sam groaned in exasperation and grabbed Dean's jacket, shoving him towards the driver's side door.

"Dude, we're not fighting them. Get in the goddamn car!"

Dean chuckled again as he opened his door. Sam glanced around before copying. "So care to tell me what it was all about?" the older hunter asked as he started the engine and pulled away from the street.

"Some guy was hitting on Anya," Sam muttered, watching as Yates was thrown from the club as the Impala passed the door.

"Anya?" Dean asked, confused. "You mean you were actually picking up?"

Sam turned to his brother. "What? No. Dean, Anya and Ash Jackson, they're here, in town. They have been for two weeks."

Dean frowned. "Those hunters who… who helped you…" He trailed off, appearing to be having difficulty getting the words out, and Sam grinned.

"Come on, dude, you can say it. The hunters who helped me _rescue_ you. You damsel you."

Dean actually growled and looked set to hit his little brother before he thought better of it. "Whatever dude. But she was there? How'd she get in… Was she working there?"

Sam nodded. "And Ash was watching from outside. Anyway, the guy who hit me with the cue, he was a son of bitch drunk who wanted her to dance for him. He got violent, I sent him away. He hit me with a bottle as I was coming out… and I think you probably saw the rest. Nice timing, by the way. You couldn't have jumped in _before_ he hit me in the head?" His now bleeding, throbbing head.

"I was trying. Nice fighting by the way." And he was completely serious about it. "So, where are Ash and Anya staying?"

"Sleep-Easy," Sam told him. "Next right. Room nine."

Dean took the turn and a few minutes later they were parked in the motel parking-lot. A slow drizzle had begun, and the brother's hitched their jackets until they were under the covering. Sam picked the lock and a moment later they were waiting in Ash and Anya's motel room.

* * *

In the end the brothers had to wait almost three hours before Anya and Ash returned to their motel room. Dean took the time to patch Sam up, and then began wandering around the room. Sam watched him, telling him off when he began to look through what looked like Anya's private bag. What he was searching for, Sam didn't want to know.

Dean was admiring a gun that had been left out when they heard a car pull up. Placing the weapon under Ash's pillow, the older brother sat down on the same bed while Sam, shaking his head, took a chair, sitting on it backwards. He couldn't wait to see their expression.

Waiting in silence, they heard footsteps approach, and then suddenly stop. And then someone growled. Sam was willing to bet it had been Anya. Then the feet started again, and the door slammed open.

"Sam Winchester!" Anya cried. "First you come into _our_ job, then try and protect me when I certainly don't need it! Then you start a fight, and destroy the place I'm working! And then you go and break into my motel!"

Silence followed, in which Dean was very obviously trying not to laugh. Sam was more than a little stunned.

"Ah, have you met my brother Dean? The guy with me?" he asked after a moment, wondering where her outburst had come from. She just pursed her lips, but Sam chose to ignore it. "Hey, Ash," he greeted to the guy who came in behind his twin sister, shutting the door.

Ash smiled. "Hey Sam. Hey Dean. Glad to see you both in one piece after your… encounter." The flick of his eyes towards his sister told he meant with her.

"What are you doing here?" Anya asked.

"Waiting for you two," Dean stated the obvious.

"What happened to coming in the morning?" she asked. Sam made a show of checking his watch.

"It is morning," he told her. "Besides, we should get started on this case. Twenty people have disappeared so far. And four heads are better than two."

"Sounds good to me," Ash said as Anya opened her mouth. Dean got the idea he did it a lot. But she didn't seem to mind, and they both took a seat. "What have you got so far?" he asked.

Dean shook his head. "Not much. As you probably guessed, we figured out that most of them disappeared after being in one of three places. And that each place was owned by Mahone." He looked at Sam before shrugging. "That's about as far as we got."

"I tried getting the police files but they're protected by a lot more than they should be," the younger man continued. "Basically we found out as much as we did from the articles that were published."

Ash and Anya had taken seats by then. The brother nodded. "Yeah, don't worry, there wasn't much in them. It seems either the police didn't look into it very hard, or didn't get very far with it. And it took me a day to get into them as well. They were well protected. But we were pretty sure that would mean that this was a purely human thing."

"So why'd you stick around so long?" Sam asked.

Ash shrugged. "The fact that Laura Jennings was found sacrificed. I mean, she disappeared here… I dunno, it seemed to be related."

"So what have you got?" Dean asked, nodding in agreement to the younger guy's comment. "Anything more than we do?"

The twins shared a look. "Not really," Anya told them. "We've been trying to get close to Mahone. We searched the bar, and the coffee shop, but haven't been able to get into the club yet, besides working there. We didn't find anything at the other two. He barely even goes to either place. And we've cased his house. It's huge, and really empty. Though we haven't gone in there either."

Dean nodded. "Me and Sam'll see what we can do," he said out loud, ignoring Anya's pointed glare at his comment. "Besides that I don't think there's much we can do. I suppose we get in and try to find something."

"Who died and made you boss?" Anya suddenly broke in, glaring. Dean turned to stare at her, grinning condescendingly.

"You're joking right?" the older man asked. "I mean, you and –."

Sam cut him off before he dug his own grave. Not a pleasant thought in their line of work. "I think what Dean means is that we both need to find out what you know. The only people who can do that are you two. And we need to have seen what you have if we're going to be _equals_ in this case."

That seemed to placate Anya, and Dean simply shrugged, knowing his little brother was trying to keep the peace. Sam nodded before continuing with Dean's line of reason.

"So, me and Anya will take the club, Dean, you and Ash go look at the coffee shop and the bar."

"Whoa," Dean interrupted, sitting up. "How come you and Anya are taking the club? Seeing as it's Mahone's fave, it's going to be more dangerous."

Sam nodded. "But it's still really early in the morning, and only an hour or so after closing. No one's going to expect someone then. Besides, Anya has to go, cause she knows the layout. And you're not going with her."

The older Winchester frowned. "Why not?"

"Cause you two don't exactly get along like a house on fire," Ash explained for Sam. "We've been in this room for maybe ten minutes and she's already close to killing you."

Anya opened her mouth as if to disagree before pausing and then closing it. She shrugged with a grin. "So when are we doing all this?" she asked instead.

"Straight away," Dean told her. She groaned.

"Can't I get some sleep first? Unlike some people, I've had to work all night."

"You'll be right," Dean declared cheerfully. Sam gave him a stern look before explaining better.

"No one will be expecting us now. It's maybe half an hour after the club closed, an hour or so until full light. No one's about. And it'll give us more time during the day, to figure out where to go next."

Anya nodded. "You're right," she admitted. "But I am changing first." And she got up immediately and disappeared into the bathroom.

Dean whistled quietly. "I'd forgotten how uptight she is," he muttered. Ash shook his head, but it wasn't angrily.

"No, she isn't. She can and will admit when she's wrong. She just doesn't like people telling her she can't hunt. It's a man's thing, and most hunters we've met have little room in their heads for a female hunter, one who does more than be bait."

Dean frowned. "How did you two even get into hunting, anyway?" he asked, staring at the bathroom door.

"Family tradition," Ash answered. "Our family's been hunters for the past one hundred years."

"Oh," Dean remarked with surprise. "Well there you go."

Anya chose that moment to come back in, changed and ready. She crossed to her bag, the one Dean had been looking through, and pulled out a gun, tucking it behind her back.

"Let's boot," she announced. Dean nodded, swinging his legs off Ash's bed. He grinned and pulled the gun out from where he had hidden it.

"This gun is sweet. Can I borrow it?"

* * *

Sam peered at the dark building from across the street. Anya sat beside him in the driver's seat of her and Ash's red Ford. The Jiggly Room was quiet, empty, and kind of creepy. Though Anya was the only one who had admitted that out loud.

"So how long do you think we should wait here?" Anya asked softly. Sam shrugged.

"Long enough to know no one's around to see us sneak through the back exit," he suggested with only the slightest hint of a question. "Haven't seen any movement though. Wanna see if we can get in?"

She shrugged back at him. "May as well." She sighed. "Come on then, let's go."

She opened the door, and he winced as it creaked. Shaking his head, and realizing the Impala sounded just as bad, he followed, placing the gun in the small of his back.

They crossed the road and entered an alleyway that ran behind the club. Anya had informed him there was a door the girls used to enter. Not that they were going in that way. There was a window a few paces down that didn't shut properly. It would open enough from the outside for Anya to slip through, and then she could open it for him.

"So why didn't you try this before, with Ash?" he asked while keeping a lookout. Anya slid gracefully through the window and landed with barely a sound.

"This room isn't used a lot. It's taken me a while to search the whole place. I only found this window the other day. And we've been busy with other stuff."

She had opened the window enough for Sam to climb through with considerably less grace than Anya had. He stumbled across a few boxes, and she shushed him, then ignored the glare he gave her before continuing.

"Besides," she shrugged. "When I found it, I almost got caught. I had to lie that I got lost on the way to the toilet. Now be quiet."

He rolled his eyes at her order – she had grown since he last saw her. Then she had been the one taking his orders. But he let her lead as she opened the door, peeking her head out the door and looking both ways.

"Come on. Mahone's office is this way."

Five minutes later they had found what Anya called Mahone's office, on the second story. Sam frowned as he entered, taking in the disarray and chaos. "How the hell does he run three successful businesses? This place is a mess."

She shrugged. "Who knows? He's not exactly smart either. More sadistic than anything else. But he likes the idea, I think. I don't know. But come on. Now we're here, we should actually get to work."

* * *

Dean picked the lock to the back door of the coffee shop while Ash kept a lookout. The younger man had already disabled the alarm from the outside, in a matter of seconds that had left Dean feeling slightly jealous.

"You going inside or what?" the younger hunter asked irritably as Dean paused after unlocking the door. "You know, before someone comes along to see us breaking into a well-liked coffee shop."

Dean rolled his eyes at Ash but slipped through the door, not far in front of his companion. Ash closed the door behind them with a soft tap.

"Right, so which way?" Dean asked, looking up and down. Ash gestured to the right and Dean led off, grabbing his gun out at the shivers that passed over him.

"Really think you need that?" Ash asked disdainfully.

"Really think I won't?" Dean shot back quietly. He pushed open a door and looked in on a sterile office. It looked like it had never been used. "Is this Mahone's office?" he asked, just to make sure.

Ash nodded. "Like we said, he doesn't come here much. Here or the bar."

"Are you even old enough to be in a bar?" Dean asked with a hint of a smile hidden from the younger man. Ash rolled his eyes.

"Sam treated us like kids, too, back when we were helping him save your ass. We're twenty-one. Do you think our parents would let us hunt alone if we weren't old enough?"

Dean shrugged. "Suppose not. Maybe they don't know," he suggested. "Sorry, just asking. So what are we looking for?"

Ash shook his head. "Here? Nothing. There isn't anything to look for. No reports, at least, none for Mahone. He doesn't come here. But according to Sam, you wanted to see what we'd seen." And his tone suggested that he knew Sam had just been covering for Dean's foot-in-mouth.

Dean shrugged. "All right. Suppose we go to the bar then. Will it be closed as well?"

Ash nodded. "Yeah, it will. Just. And it doesn't open until noon, so we'll have a bit of time. Not that there's much there."

"Up for any free beer?" Dean joked as they left the deserted coffee shop. Ash didn't get a chance to answer as Dean's phone rang.

"Found something, Sam?" he asked without looking at the caller id.

"Sam?" the gruff voice answered. "More than you I bet, Dean."

Dean grinned. "Hey Josh, what's up?" He ignored the comment about his skills at research. Or lack thereof, according to the older hunter.

"I've got some info for you, if you're interested."

Dean snorted. "Always, Josh, always. What have you got?"

"My contact in Vegas hooked up with some members of the cult that sacrificed Laura Jennings. Turns out they bought her off a demon."

Dean paused with his hand on the Impala's handle. Ash was looking at him with deep curiosity. "Bought? As in they paid for her so they could sacrifice her?"

"That's exactly what I mean. I did some digging, found out that in the past year there's been quite a trade in humans between demons, vampires, cults, etc. I think it's because there's less mess, less 'vanish off the face of the earth', 'oh my God what happened to them' factor."

"So did the demon take her? Or did someone sell her to the demon?" Dean asked, sharing a look with Ash over the roof.

"Don't know. I guess you'll find that out. Because I found ten instances of people who disappeared and found in supernatural circumstances being sold. Three of them from Lafayette. And I haven't finished looking yet. You have to find out a common factor for them all, I guess, and then follow it from there."

Dean felt his stomach churn. A common factor? They had already found that. Mahone. And at that exact moment Sam and Anya were checking out Mahone's stronghold.

"All right, thanks Josh. You might have been a big help," he told the other man as he got in the car, going to hang up.

"Wait, Dean. That wasn't all I found." Dean waited, holding off from turning on the car. "I was talking to some friends, about Lafayette, and they mentioned something that might be interesting. About eleven years ago, they found traces of demonic activity in Lafayette. But nothing ever came from it. Then, a year ago, there were four deaths in Lafayette. Four people basically ripped to shreds. By invisible dogs who had hounded them for days before."

Dean was sure the temperature dropped a few degrees. "Hellhounds," he whispered. "People making deals. You think that has anything to do with what's happening here?"

"The last death occurred a week before the first disappearance. Big coincidence if there's nothing between them."

Dean was silent for a moment. "Thanks Josh." He barely heard the other man respond before he had hung up. Turning to Ash he had to still his thoughts before talking.

"That was a friend of mine, the guy who sent us on this hunt. Laura Jennings was sold by a demon to the cult who sacrificed her. He found ten in total, three from here, people who were sold and then found in supernatural circumstances. And a year ago, a week before the first disappearance, four people had demonic deals paid in full. As in, with their lives."

"So why's that got your stomach in a knot?" Ash asked slowly. The older man shook his head.

"The deal bit? Don't know yet. But Laura Jennings was sold by someone who knows Lafayette. And every person who disappeared had a connection to Mahone. Me and Sam don't believe in coincidence. And Sam and Anya, they're in Mahone's club. The only place he owns that he visits. I don't know if there's anything to it, and Sam's the psychic, but I've got a bad feeling."

* * *

Wow, that was a long 'un. Sorry, for all you who like short and sweet. Still, I hope you liked the chapter. Next update tomorrow night!


	4. Chapter 4: Caught

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** Spoilers, of a sort, for Hunted, but only meensy… especially considering that in this story, Hunted hasn't happened yet… you'll get what I mean. Oh, and language.

**Author's Note:** Okay, getting into some rough and guts now. To prpleflipnhippo, I apologise in advance. But I hope you still like the chapter!

**

* * *

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Chapter 4: Caught

"There's nothing here," Sam spat disgustedly as he threw down the papers he had been reading. "Whatever Mahone's been doing, maybe he just doesn't keep his records here."

Anya looked up from Mahone's leather chair behind the desk. She nodded. "You're right. There's nothing here. Maybe somewhere else in the club?"

Sam shrugged. "Anywhere else here that might be used to store them?"

Anya gave it a thought for a moment. "There might be. Wanna take a look around the place?"

"You can. I'll keep looking around here for a bit. There's no way we've been through them all, considering I think I've read the same papers a few times over."

She swung her feet off the desk, nodding. "All right. Just don't tell Ash. He worries too much."

She was gone in an instant, and Sam took the vacated chair. But he didn't pick up any papers. He was sure there was nothing out in the open. But hidden? There could well be.

He leaned forward in the chair, elbows on the table and studied the room. It was the biggest office in the club, dimly lit and rather oppressive. Even without the fireplace lit, it seemed warm.

Sam leaned back then, peering at the fireplace. There was something wrong about it. The rest of the room was worn; even the wallpaper seemed faded, and the leather chair had many scratches in it. But the fireplace… it was empty, and barren and cold. As if it had never been used. And while Lafayette wasn't the warmest place on Earth right at that moment, with the approaching winter, there wasn't even a twig in sight. No fancy iron-wrought holder for wood, no tools, nothing. As if it were just there for decoration. Taking in the electric heater placed inconspicuously to one side, Sam had at first assumed the fireplace _was_ there simply for decoration.

Swivelling in the chair, he stood up and crept closer to the fireplace. He knelt before it, his keen eyes studying every inch. Still, it wasn't until his second visual run over that he saw the well-worn groove in the very bottom corner on the left-hand side. Placing his finger in it, he found it only a little too big for his own. But Mahone was more solid than he was. It could easily have been caused by his finger.

Anxious with curiosity now, Sam dug his finger in deeper, trying to get a grip on the brick. His finger slipped once, but on the second try the brick came with it, revealing a small space with a box inside.

He pulled the wooden box out, grinning in triumph. It was rectangular in shape, A4 sized – the size of a normal piece of paper. Say, one used for a report, or a record. The lock didn't faze him, and a minute later, he had found what he had come for.

He sat back on his heels as he read through the first sheet. It was a profile, of sorts. Information about a woman named Hailey Reynolds. Sam remembered her name from the list of people who had disappeared in Lafayette. According to the sheet, she had worked in the Jiggly Room until three months ago, when she had vanished off the face of the Earth. Or, so he had thought.

He gaped as he read through the rest of the page, then quickly flicked through the other pages. There were twenty in total.

"Oh my God," he whispered to himself, disgusted by what he had learned. Then he swallowed. He and Anya had to get out quickly. Because according to these papers, Mahone took people… and then sold them to the highest bidder, like some slave trader from the seventeenth century. Only this was the twenty-first century, and he doubted many slavers had sold people to demons.

He pulled out his phone, quickly dialling Dean's number. He was so enthralled in what he was doing, and in his horror, that he didn't even hear the person come up behind him. But Dean's phone hadn't even started ringing before he felt the barrel of a gun resting against the back of his head.

He went completely still, not even sure he was breathing. He didn't drop the phone, but put his other hand up, cursing his lack of awareness.

"There's a good boy," a deep voice told him. "Don't you hang up now. Don't want your buddy getting suspicious. Tell him you found nothing, and you'll meet him back at the motel. Keep it natural. I think he even has a flicker of a doubt that you won't be there, and I will put a bullet in your head."

Sam barely nodded, so aware of the muzzle pressed into the spot where his head met his neck. And then Dean picked up.

"Sammy, what you doing?" the older man asked, sounding relieved for some reason.

"I'm just finishing up in Mahone's office," he said slowly, hoping Anya hadn't been found. "How'd you go?" he asked. Keep it natural the guy with the gun had said.

"Got a call from Josh. Apparently Laura Jennings was sold -." Sam cut him off with a disappointed chuckle.

"Yeah, you were right. Guy's too clean. Too careful," the younger man said, hoping the guy behind him wasn't listening too hard. Probably too much to hope for there.

"Sam, what's wrong?" he heard Dean ask, bringing him out of hoping.

"Nah, I haven't found anything either. A few reports here and there." He felt the muzzle press harder into his skull and found himself closing his eyes tight. "It's like he wants to know everything that goes on in this funky town."

Dean paused. "What about Anya?" the other hunter asked quietly. He had got the message, though Sam knew only Dean could come up with a code word like funky town.

"Not sure. But we can talk about it when I get back. I'll meet you back at the motel in about twenty minutes. I'll just finish up here and then I'll blaze."

Dean growled. "So you're still at the club?"

Sam gave a laugh. "Get your mind out of the gutter!" he ordered, hoping Dean took it as just 'get out'. "You know, I was there last night, saw you two getting along like a house on fire."

He felt the gun shove into his head once more, and he winced, knowing the man wanted him to finish up. "Anyway, I'll see you when I get back."

And he hung up the phone, just hearing Dean call his name before the line cut off. He still didn't lower his arms, even as the phone was snatched from his hand.

"Good," the man said. "That was good. Now get to your feet."

Sam rose slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements that might end with his brains splattered everywhere. The gun didn't move from its spot at the back of his head.

"Now, lace your fingers behind your head. If they move, I will shoot you."

Sam obeyed, taking a deep breath. This really couldn't be good. At least he had managed to warn Dean. And hopefully they hadn't found Anya.

A jab with the gun forced him forward, and he left the office, thinking furiously. The guy had to be one of Mahone's men. He wouldn't be a cop, otherwise Sam would have been in handcuffs already. And he wouldn't have been able to speak to Dean. And Sam knew from Anya how hard it was to sneak in. Which, considering the files he had found in Mahone's office, meant he had to get out soon or he would probably find himself sold. Now there was a horrifying thought.

He went downstairs slowly, coming into the back of the club and then out into the public space. Sam looked around, finding another four men, a dint in the wall from the fight last night, and…

"Anya," he muttered, his gut sinking. No one seemed to hear him. She caught his eye and his hidden question. She nodded slightly, more of a jerk than anything. But he breathed a sigh of relief that she was okay. He just wished she wasn't there.

One of the guys stepped forward, a large hulk of a man all in black, steel blue eyes narrow. He looked between the two, suspicious and curious.

"Now what have we here?" the man asked, keeping his stare on Anya. "Charlotte, bit early for your start isn't it?"

"Bite me, Landly," she spat. He grinned at her.

"Maybe later." And the man turned to Sam.

"And you? I remember you from last night. What, no karate action now?" he asked. Sam didn't say anything, just met the man's stare without wavering. After a moment the man growled. "What's your name?"

Still, Sam didn't say anything. There was nearly a minute of silence before Landly glared and nodded. Sam heard the click of the gun behind him and his breathe caught. But he didn't lose Landly's eye.

"You're not going to pull that trigger," Sam told them quietly. "You need to know what I know. You know I have a partner, and you need to know what he knows. And you're not going to get that from me if I'm dead."

Landly's face reddened with anger. But the truth had sunk in, and Sam felt the gun retreat half an inch, until it was no longer right against his skull. He breathed easier. But he wasn't happy with just that. He and Anya needed to get out. Before they even tried to start getting the information from him. Because that would be painful.

He caught Anya's eye quickly, and she jerked a nod again, eyes grimly determined. It wouldn't be easy, five against the two of them, but they had the element of surprise. And hopefully more skill.

The interchange between the two hunters took less than a second, and then Sam was looking back at Landly. The man was looking between the two of them, as if trying to discover what had gone on between the pair. Sam just gave him a cocky grin.

Before Landly could even gape at the audacity of the grin from a man with a gun pointed at his head, Sam spun, lifting his arm and catching the armed arm in a tight grip. He used his superior height to shove upwards, dislocating the arm, and disarming him in a matter of seconds. With a sharp groan, the shocked man dropped the gun. Sam used his other hand to catch it around the barrel. Seizing every ounce of strength he could, he smashed the handle of the gun into the man's nose, driving him backwards and down, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

He spun back, gun up and pointed at the remaining four men. Anya, too, had gotten free from the grip of the man holding her, and had his gun, pointing it at the men too. All of which had their own guns out, pointing at the two of them.

Sam took a deep breath, moving closer to Anya. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

"Fine. Damn bastards snuck up behind me."

The hunters never once took their eyes off the men in front of them. All four of them. Each moved with Sam and Anya, guns up, eyes glaring.

"We know exactly what you look like," Landly told them. "You're not going to be able to get away. You won't even get back to your motel. Sleep-Easy, isn't it Charlotte?"

She glared at him. "Fuck you Landly," she spat. "We get out of here, we're home free."

"So what are you? FBI? State police? Or just some scummy local pigs?"

Sam laughed. "Guess you'll never know," he told them, reaching the door that led into the back section of the club. "Maybe I'll tell you when I bring your ugly asses down."

They were almost free. He cast a quick glance sideways and nodded at Anya. She caught his hidden meaning and ducked through the door first, gun pointed. A moment later, with another cocky grin at the men, he followed, moving as quickly as possible. He found a lock and shut the door behind him.

"We're not letting them get away!" he heard Landly shout as he caught up to Anya. She took the front while he brought up the rear of their column of two.

"Hurry," he whispered, and she gave him a look that said, 'duh' before turning her full attention on to where she was going. But she did speed up, running silently on the floorboards. They rounded a corner.

Sam ran into Anya as she stopped, going pale. He turned to see what had happened, and cried out a second after a bang filled the corridor. Pain flared in his left shoulder, and he spun back around the corner, gripping the bleeding bullet wound that had popped up in his shoulder.

"Sam!" Anya shouted, ducking around with him. She squatted beside him as he half slid down the wall.

"Goddammit," he exhaled through gritted teeth. He turned to Anya. "How many?" he asked, forcing back a groan.

"What?" she asked, concentrating hard on the blood flowing from the wound.

"Anya, come on. Up here, on my face." She struggled but her gaze fell on his. "How many men are around that corner?" They didn't have long before the four behind them broke through the door Sam had locked.

"Three," she told him. "They're not moving, just blocking everything, making sure we don't leave. I don't think we can get past without shooting them."

Sam glanced around before looking down at the bullet hole. His gun hand was covered in blood. And he knew he wasn't going to be able to exert himself. Add that to the fact that he had no grip, and it was looking like Anya was alone in the shooting department. And even though he knew she was a good hunter, he couldn't bring himself to trust her that completely.

There was a door ten feet back down the hall. "Where does that lead to?" he asked in a hushed whisper, motioning at the door.

"It's a dressing room," she told him. "There is a window, but it's high up. Maybe two feet off the ceiling. Could you reach it?"

There was a crash as the door was busted open. Sam swore before getting to his feet. "I'll have to. I'm not going to let Mahone sell me."

She gave him a curious look, but he dragged her down the corridor, pulling her through the door a moment before gun shots echoed behind them. Two crashed into the door as he slammed it shut.

"There's no lock!" he spat as Anya disappeared for a moment. She returned a second later with a chair. He didn't think it would help, and something obviously showed on his face, because she shoved it under the handle a little harder than she probably had to.

"It'll do!" she spat, anxiety reaching her voice. She pulled him over to the wall, grabbing a silk scarf and a wad of square cotton strips.

"Anya, we don't have time -." She cut him off with a furious glare, shoving the wad against his wound.

"What we don't have," she told him as she wound the scarf around his shoulder, "is a need for you to bleed to death on me while we're trying to escape… Is he selling the people he takes?"

He groaned as she tied the scarf tight. "I'll explain later. For now, we have to get through that window."

He looked up, wincing as he saw it was above his head height. It was big enough for him to slip through, but he doubted he would be able to reach it, not with a bullet in his shoulder. He looked at Anya hopefully.

"Any other chairs?" he asked. She nodded and returned with one a moment later, placing it under the window. They both paused as the door began shaking.

Sam bounded onto the chair then looked down at Anya. "Come on, I'll give you a boost."

She snorted. "Whatever, bullet-boy. If you can even hold up your gun in that hand, I'll run naked down the street. Get your ass through that window."

He avoided shaking his head, but saw her logic. Holding back any groan for Anya's sake, he pulled himself through the window, rolling over and giving a sharp cry as it tore at the wound. But he managed to land on his feet before collapsing against the brick wall, and waited for Anya to come through, increasingly aware of the lightening sky. It was dawn.

He didn't even try to catch her. She landed nimbly on her own feet, then put her hands on his shoulders where he was leaning against the wall.

"You right?" she asked, looking up just as the sound of the chair snapping came through the window.

"I'll have to be," Sam told her breathlessly. His shoulder thudded with pain, and he was feeling dizzy, but they had to get away from the club. He pushed himself off the wall.

"Come on," he said. "We have to try and get back to the car."

Anya shook her head. "They have the car. I heard them talking about it. We'll have to go another way."

Sam withheld a groan, taking a deep breath instead. "All right then. Which way?"

She took off at a fast walk, one Sam hoped he could keep up with. He managed okay for a while, but he found it more and more difficult. Before the club had even disappeared from sight, Sam had to stop, shaking his head.

"This isn't going to work. Do you have your cell phone on you?" he asked, hopeful. His hopes were dashed.

"No, it's the first thing they took." She looked around, and seemed to spy something. "But I do have some change. Come on."

She lifted his arm on his uninjured side and draped it over her shoulders, helping him to walk. After a minute he saw where they were headed, a pay phone on the corner a block away from the Jiggly Room. It took a minute because his sight was wavering, the blood loss quickly affecting him.

What felt like an infinite time later, they reached the pay phone, and he practically fell against the side. Anya gave him an anxious look before opening the door and fishing change out of her pocket.

She hadn't even started dialling the number when Sam heard it. A car engine started, not far away. Forcing himself into awareness, or at least a semblance of it, he looked around, trying to push the double-vision away.

And then he saw it. A small, green car – he couldn't see well enough to distinguish the make or model. But he could see well enough to realize it was gathering speed… and headed straight for them.

"Anya!" he shouted, pulling himself around and taking a slippery grip on the back of her shirt. She cried out in shock as she was yanked backwards and away from the pay phone. Away from the car's aim. Sam tried to follow as quickly as he could, pushing himself off the glass side and in Anya's general direction. But he wasn't fast enough.

The car ploughed through the pay phone, and if Sam had been standing exactly where he had been leaning, he would have been killed. As it was the side of the car hit him, knocking him down and around, spinning through the darkening air. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

* * *

Hope you liked it! Next chapter up tomorrow, life willing.


	5. Chapter 5: Tracing

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, but I don't mind. I still get to play!

**Warning:** Swearing. But you know me, can't avoid the swearing. A bit like spoilers. Can't seem to avoid those.

**Author's Note:** So, next chapter… Actually, I don't think I have anything to say, I just like blabbing on… you may have noticed. Plus it doesn't help that I'm in a hyper mood.

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Chapter 5: Tracing

"Shit, shit, shit!" Dean cursed, hitting the steering wheel of the Impala. He resisted the urge to chuck his cell phone at something. Ash was staring at him anxiously.

"That was Sam, wasn't it?" the younger man asked. Dean nodded, leaning back and pressing the heels of his palm into his eyes. This couldn't be happening.

"What's wrong?" Ash demanded, eyes suddenly bright with anger. "Are they okay?"

"I don't know," Dean muttered.

"What? What! How can you not know? What the hell did Sam say?"

The Winchester took a deep breath, then another, aware of Ash's growing impatience. Finally, when he thought his voice was ready, when he thought it wouldn't break, he spoke up.

"Yes, that was Sam. And no, I don't know if they're okay. Someone's got a gun on Sam, and he doesn't know what's happening with Anya. But he did find something, in Mahone's office…" _Guy's too clean. Too careful. _What had Sam meant by that? "We were right. Mahone is selling people. And now he's got Sam, and maybe Anya, which means we have to get them back fast or we're never going to see them again."

… _getting along like a house on fire._ What the hell Sammy? Dean realized he was muttering to himself, and Ash was staring at him worriedly. Dean shook his head and started the engine.

"We've got to get back to your motel, clean it out. Mahone knows about us. Or me, at least. And he knows where Anya and you are staying, so I'm assuming he knows about you too."

"What do you mean, go back to the motel?" Ash snapped as Dean started for the Sleep-Easy. "We have to go to the club, get them out! We're not leaving them to be _sold_!"

Dean swallowed a shout of frustration, knowing Ash was saying exactly what Dean wanted to do. His grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

"I know, Ash, I know! But we can't do that. Sam and Anya are smart, if they can get out, they will. But they're not staying at the club, I can guarantee that! And we have no idea where they're going." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Besides which, they _know_ where your staying, Ash, they fucking know! And if we take our time by going to that fucking club, then they're going to know everything! Everything about who we _all_ are, what we do… and then if we haven't managed to get Sam and Anya out, they'll move them quickly. Hunters have to be well sought after, especially considering we _hunt_ them!"

He knew he wasn't making any sense. He sighed, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second. "Look, Ash. I wish we could just go in there guns blazing. But that won't do anyone any good. We have to get our stuff, retreat, regroup. Sam and Anya will be okay, so long as we have the chance to get them."

Ash nodded sulkily, but the kid understood. Dean took another deep breath as he screeched to a halt outside the motel. The dawn sun was just peeking over the roof of the building, and for a moment it blinded his and Ash's sight.

He took the moment to let the shakes out, the fear, the anxiety. Took the moment when Ash wasn't looking to have a second of weakness. _Shit, Sammy!_ he cursed in his own head, wishing his brother was the person beside him instead of this almost complete stranger.

Then the sun passed and Dean opened his completely dry eyes, hands steady, mask back on.

* * *

Half an hour later found them watching the Jiggly Room from a fair way up the street. It had taken barely ten minutes to clear Ash and Anya's room at the Sleep-Easy, and another fifteen getting to Dean's room, dumping their stuff, gathering a whole arsenal and making their way to where they were now seated. All while doing the speed limit.

Dean would have gone faster if it hadn't been for the multitude of squad cars out and about, a surprising amount for the early morning. They had soon found out why though – the road around the strip club was teeming with officers. Which was also why they were sitting a fair distance.

They had no idea what was going on, what all the cops were doing there… and Dean was pretty sure he didn't want to know. It couldn't be good.

After five minutes sitting in silence however, Ash grew too impatient to watch any longer.

"Come on," he half-begged. "There's a crowd gathering now. We should be able to get information without looking sus."

He didn't wait for an answer, but got out of the Impala. Dean sighed and followed, hoping the kid wouldn't be this impetuous until the very moment he had Anya back.

_God I feel old_.

Growling over that particular thought, he shut the door harder than he would normally, following Ash down the street.

True to Ash's words, there was a crowd gathering behind yellow police tape. Only it wasn't the club that was taped off, rather a small square surrounding what looked like a ruined phone booth. A squad car stood to one side, while two officers, a tall man and a blonde woman looked over the scene, intently ignoring the crowd muttering to themselves.

Dean came up on one side of a middle-aged woman having a peek. Ash stopped on the other side, looking over the heads of the gathered people.

"What happened?" he asked, glancing quickly at the woman as she looked up at him. She shrugged.

"Someone ran over the pay phone. Only the cops apparently found blood. As if someone was standing in or near it when the car ran into it."

Dean felt his blood run cold. If that had been Sam…

He turned and left, walking around the side of the crowd until he was closer to the cop car standing idly by the shattered glass. He glanced quickly at Ash, who had followed him, before straining to hear what the cops were saying.

"Looks messy," the woman muttered, glancing around. From his position from behind the car, Dean was invisible, so she kept on speaking. "What do you think happened?"

The man shrugged. "I think someone was trying to use the phone and someone tried to run them over. Didn't succeed though, there's not enough blood."

Dean frowned in distaste at the man's cold analysis. That could have been his baby brother the cop was talking about.

The woman frowned. "So what happened to the person?" she asked. Dean was assuming she was a rookie. "There's no drag marks or anything." Maybe not so rookie.

Dean just caught a glimpse of the cop glancing back at the Jiggly Room. "My guess is that Mahone has something to do with this. Always does, the fucking bastard."

The woman glanced back as well, her frown turning into a glare. "And we have no proof so we can't get a warrant to check. Just like always. So what, another missing persons?"

The guy shook his head. "Not until someone says someone's missing." And Dean knew that wouldn't be happening. "No one's come forward yet, so…" The guy shook his head again. "Until someone does, this is just exactly like vandalism. For all anyone knows, and as far as Mahone's lawyers would be concerned, the blood could be from whatever bastard knocked into the phone."

Dean had heard enough. Ducking away with a glare on his face, he related everything back to Ash as they walked back to the Impala.

"So what now?" the younger man asked. Dean grinned at him.

"Now we go hunting. We're going to track whoever was in that pay phone." His grin widened. "Sam told me about your tracking skills. Improved any?"

Ash scowled. "Like Anya told him, back when we saved _your_ ass, we didn't usually work anything out in the bush like that -." Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"It's all good, Ash, I was just playing." Jeez, the kid was uptight when he was mindless with worry. Whereas Dean needed something, anything, to take his mind off the anxiety curdling the contents of his stomach.

* * *

They had to wait a few hours before the cops disappeared and the crowd decided a smashed up pay phone wasn't worth their attention. Dean was growling by the end of the wait, while Ash…

The freak of a kid had gone to sleep, snoring his head off until Dean was actually considering smothering him. Five minutes after that he punched the other hunter in the arm, ripping him from sleep and into full alertness in a matter of seconds. Dean was actually impressed with the speed of his waking, though he had to stop the kid from hitting back.

"Easy there Sleepy," Dean soothed. "Come on, everyone's left. We can go have a looksies now."

Ash rubbed the grit from his eyes and nodded, looking about wearily. Dean supposed he couldn't really blame him. It had to have been nearly twenty-four hours since Ash had gotten any. Not that Dean was faring much better in the sleep department.

They exited the car and went around to the trunk, taking two shotguns filled with rock-salt cartridges. The likelihood that Sam and Anya were still in the club was incredibly slim, and Dean didn't want to waste information by shooting and killing men who might know where his little brother was. In the meantime, rock salt hurt like hell.

"I know from personal experience," he told Ash with a grim grin on his face when the kid asked why they weren't taking guns with fatal bullets. Ash frowned at the answer.

"Sam mentioned something about splinters not being as bad as rock salt. Do I want to know?"

"Sam got his head screwed with by the ghost of a psychotic doctor and shot me with rock salt," Dean answered nonchalantly, pushing the trunk closed. Ash shook his head.

"I was right, I didn't want to know."

They closed the gap with the shattered pay phone in a matter of seconds, looking around for any sign of anyone. But the pay phone had been pretty well hidden from the main street, tucked on a corner near the club, which was out of sight. _Out of sight, out of mind_, Dean thought, knowing people tended to ignore the things they didn't want to know about.

They slowed on reaching the area where the pay phone had been. The glass had been removed, being too much of a danger to anyone who happened to be walking around in bare feet, but the blood stains were still there.

Ignoring the possibility that it might be his brothers – he didn't want to know – he squatted, analysing the scene with a distance that would have shocked him if he had thought about it at the time.

"Just like any other hunt," he reminded himself in a whisper so Ash couldn't hear. The younger hunter was keeping watch, shotgun hidden in the folds of his jacket.

The cop had been right, Dean gathered after a moment. No one had died here, there wasn't enough blood. From what the hunter could discern, someone had been standing there, probably minding their own business, though not if it had been Sammy. The car had come for them, aiming for whoever had been there – there were no break marks showing any sign of any attempted stop. And then it had hit, knocking someone to the side. But any knowledge of what had then happened to the person hit was lost, taken with the body.

Dean stood, half grinning. Who needed forensic reports when you had Dean Winchester on the case?

He looked about, grin fading and concentration taking over. He sidestepped around the blood, looking about for more. For anything. He found it about five metres away.

Another blood drop. He knew from watching that morning that the cops had in fact seen it, and documented it. He didn't know how far they had gotten, maybe all the way to Mahone's club, if that was where it led. He knew they hadn't looked happy when they had reappeared and sped away in the squad car. It seemed no one, not even the law, could touch Mahone in this town. Dean glared away from where Ash could see as he realized it. Well he would just have to bring down Mahone in his own style. Bastard selling his species to the supernatural. Why the hell would he do that?

Between Ash and he, they did in fact trace the trail all the way back to the club. To a wall just underneath a high window, in fact. Someone had leant against it. Someone Sam's height, who was bleeding pretty badly from his shoulder.

"Dammit," Dean muttered, not caring if Ash heard. Sam was in trouble. He knew it. He didn't even really need this. He had known all along. If Sam hadn't been in trouble, he would have called, or come back a long time ago.

"So what now?" Ash asked. Dean shook his head.

"Now we have to get in that club. Sam found something in Mahone's office. We have to find out what. It had to be pretty important for Sam to try telling me while someone's got a gun on him."

"Now what might that have been?"

The stranger's voice made them both spin, taking in the two men standing between them and the mouth of the alley, guns out and up. Dean cursed under his breath as he realized the two had snuck up on them, wondering how he hadn't heard them.

Both he and Ash put their hands up, glaring at themselves. Idiots, both of them. They were hunters, yet had managed to be caught by humans. Humans!

"Gonna answer my question?" the same man asked. He was taller, a shaved head and dark, glittering eyes. "What did that little shit tell you?"

Dean shrugged. "He told me to fuck you," he offered. The gun was cocked instantly, and baldy took a step forward, knuckles tightening on the handle.

"You wanna watch your fucking mouth, or I might decide to blow it off."

"How about you blow me!" Dean spat, trying to make the guy angry. It seemed to be working. Baldy took another two steps forward, face paling in fury. He was close enough and Dean barely avoided grinning triumphantly.

"I said watch your fucking mouth!" the guy near-yelled. Dean twitched his eyebrows.

"How about you watch my fist instead," he told, not giving the guy a chance. He took a nimble step forward, fist coming up and under the guy's arm, catching him hard in the ribs. The impact made his fingers tighten, and his gun rang out. Dean flinched but the bullet crashed harmlessly into the far wall. Another punch and the guy went down. Satisfying himself with a follow-up kick, making sure baldy was unconscious, he turned to find Ash finishing off the second man, downing the guard while he was distracted by his angry comrade.

Dean nodded in approval, trying not to notice how Ash was massaging his fist. Maybe he would teach the kid to punch properly. In the meantime…

"Let's get out of here," he ordered, picking up his shotgun where he had left it lying against the wall as he had studied the blood patch at Sam's shoulder height.

Ash balked. "What about getting into the club?" he asked. Dean stared at him like he was an idiot.

"Are you kidding me? Every person within a block, at least, will have heard that shot. People will be coming any minute. It's far better we get out of here, come when they least expect it. Come on!"

They ran for the Impala, getting away just as cop cars came spinning around the corner. Dean drove slow, unwilling to attract attention.

"So when are we going in then?" Ash asked after he became uncomfortable with the silence. Dean grinned at him.

"Tonight. When the club's full of people and half-naked girls dancing, when everyone's attention is on the door. They won't expect it. We'll walk right in and they won't notice."

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More Sammy next chapter, I swear. Then you'll get to find out what happened to him! Talk to you later!


	6. Chapter 6: Questioning

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Warning:** Swearing. Mentions of doing painful things to other people. If you no likies, you no readies.

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the lack of updating yesterday, my life called, it wanted me for the night. Family obligations, you know how they are. Though obviously my sister didn't get the memo. Sorry, bitching in my note, not nice. Enjoy the chapter!

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Chapter 6: Questioning

Ice hit him and Sam jumped awake, yelping at the freezing water now running down his face, intending to make Dean pay hell for this latest prank.

Only when he tried to jump he didn't get very far before something dug into his wrists and pain flared in his body. He groaned as every bone, every muscle began to ache, and a pounding erupted in his shoulder. Then he remembered, he wasn't at a motel, Dean wouldn't be the one washing him with icy water, and he was in a shit-load of trouble.

He opened his eyes to find a man standing in front of him, holding a bucket. Sam realized he was tied to a chair, tightly, the circulation in his hands and feet not so good. A bright light swung above him, illuminating a small circle that centred on him. The rest of the room was dark.

Sam looked around, gritting his teeth before they started chattering from the cold. Another three men were standing back, mere shadows in the dark. He turned his attention back to the guy in front of him.

"Thought it was about time we woke your ass up," the man said, and Sam recognised his voice as they guy who had split the fight up the night before.

"Damn shame," Sam retorted, spitting water out of his mouth. "I was having the best dream, all about clichés. Hang on… I'm still in it." He grinned up at the guy. "I think someone watches way too many movies."

The backhand made him see stars, and he had to resist the urge to wipe the blood away with his hand. Would have been hard anyway, what with his hand tied behind his back and all. But he felt it leak from the corner of his mouth as he turned his gaze back to the man in front of him.

"You won't be such a smartass when the Boss gets here. He's got some questions for you."

"The Boss?" Sam asked with a smirk. "You call Mahone, 'the Boss'?"

Another backhand strained his neck, and he shook his head, trying to clear the immediate daze.

"Don't insult him," the guard defended loyally. "He's gone through a lot to earn his name."

"Like what? Murder? Kidnapping? Betraying his own species?"

The men shared a look. "So you do know about him?"

"I know enough to know he's earned shit. The bastard's a monster, selling people to the highest bidder -." Another backhand cut him off mid-sentence.

Sam brought his head back around, eyes glittering dangerously. But a sudden light from behind, and a warm breeze cut him off as quickly as any hit. He tried to look around, but he couldn't move far before he had to bite back a cry of pain.

It didn't matter; three people came in, almost crowding the room. Sam got a better sense of area, finding himself in cell-like room roughly nine square feet. Then the door shut, and the darkness filled the room again. All except the light shining directly on him.

One of the men stopped behind him, but the other two came around on opposite sides. The guard from the night before took a step back, moving into shadow, a smirk on his face.

Sam spun his head around, looking from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of either man.

He saw Landly first, the big man coming up close and laying a hand on Sam's shoulder. The hunter flinched, but the man didn't squeeze or anything. He just patted, giving a small chuckle at Sam's quick movement.

He turned his head in time to catch the other man passing. He felt a snarl form as he realized it was Mahone.

"You fucking bastard," Sam spat before Mahone had even stopped and turned to face him.

Mahone looked up at Landly, and then back, a condescending smile on his face.

"Now, now, Sam, no need for obscenities."

His mouth dropped. "How do you know my name?" he asked, looking around.

"We heard Miss Anya shouting it as…" he trailed off, gesturing at Sam's shoulder. "And then while she was begging you to wake up, after you saved her from being run over."

"So you have her too," he confirmed, feeling sick in his gut. "Have you hurt her? If you have, I swear you'll pay hell."

Mahone gave a long laugh, apparently thoroughly amused. Sam felt the snarl deepen, not appreciating it. What he wouldn't give for just one of his legs free. Mahone was just within in reach of his foot.

"Hell, hey?" Mahone said finally. "Well, of course I want to avoid that."

His tone was strange, almost sarcastic. Sam cocked his head, frowning, finally losing the snarl. But Mahone hadn't finished.

"You want to know what else I want to avoid?" he asked, apparently getting right down to the point. "Cops nosing about in my business. Idiots searching my office and finding things that are really far too dangerous for them to know. Sluts getting themselves hired in _my_ club just to stab me in the back."

"She's no slut," Sam defended. "And I'm no cop. I have no idea what you're talking about."

In the blink of an eye Landly had stepped forward, punching hard with barely a grimace on his face. Sam's head snapped back and he felt the blood begin to run from his nose, dripping down his face and onto his shirt.

He worked the muscles in his face, trying to get any kinks out of the area around his nose. Landly had a good punch.

"Don't lie to me," Mahone ordered softly after a moment. "See, we know for a fact that you found the papers of those people. One of my men found you with the box, right in front of where they were hidden. And you were just talking about it with Greer over there."

Sam gave a nod of greeting to Greer, who glared back. Then he turned back to Mahone. "So, you're going to sell me and Anya as well?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Mahone didn't disappoint. "Eventually. Well, she will be sold. Depends how much of one piece you're still in. Not much in the market for cops. Well, there are people who will pay a bit for feds, but you don't look old enough to be a fed. And you know things. Your partner, Dean, wasn't it? He knows things too. And we can't have either of you spreading that around. Oh, and of course we can't forget about Anya's 'partner'. Looks enough like her to be her brother, don't you think?"

"Bite me!" Sam spat, a little scared by the amount Mahone knew. The man just grinned.

"Sorry, you're not my type. Besides, there are better ways of getting what you know out of you. So, what type of cop are you?"

Sam chuckled. "I'm no cop, Mahone," the hunter told him. And earned another punch.

The hunter growled, shaking his head, feeling the anger surge. "Goddammit, Mahone!" he shouted. "You just going to hit me until I tell you what you want to hear?"

The owner smiled smugly but seemed to ignore Sam's comment. "What about your partner, Dean? Is _he_ a cop?"

Sam gave a short laugh. "No freaking way. He has authority issues."

A few of the men shared a look. "So who is he? What do you do?" Landly asked. Mahone glanced at the guard, a look warning the man. But he let the question pass.

"No one special," Sam answered after a moment of glancing between each man. "Guess we just got caught up."

"So where can we find him?" Mahone asked. "Which hotel were you two staying at?"

He said it so casually that Sam almost answered. Almost. He looked down, biting on his tongue. He wouldn't answer. He wouldn't.

"What, lost that edge, boy?" the club owner asked with a grin. When Sam still didn't look up, Landly swung again. The hunter had nowhere to go, taking the punch on his cheek and spitting out the blood as it welled in his mouth.

He looked up, spitting it at Mahone. The owner flinched as the blood hit him, rolling down his black shirt.

This time it was Greer who stepped forward and hit him, backhanding so hard that Sam blacked out for a moment. When he came too again, the door behind him was just closing.

Trying to find out what he had missed in his second of unconsciousness, Sam swivelled his head, attempting vainly to see who or what had entered the cell. He could hear wheels running slowly, as if prolonging the moment.

But he couldn't see what it was, and he looked back up at Mahone, suspicion still all too clear beneath the blood. Fear gripped his stomach when he saw the amusement in the man's eyes.

"Enjoy your quick respite?" Mahone asked. "You're going to need it."

Sam looked around again, but he still couldn't see what had been wheeled in. Mahone gave a chuckle.

"See, I really don't have time to work up. As much as my boys would love it, I don't have time to let them beat the information out of you."

"Poor them," Sam muttered, but Mahone didn't give any indication that he heard.

"See, I owe someone something." He gave a nod at the man standing just behind Sam. Sam heard movement and tried to see again. "And he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam demanded, not really paying attention.

"Do you believe in nightmares, Sam?" Mahone suddenly asked. Sam frowned, looking around and up at him.

"What do you mean?" the hunter asked carefully. In the shadows of the overhanging light, the man's sneer seemed deeper than it could possibly have been.

"Nightmares, boy! Do. You. Believe. In. Them?"

Sam shrugged, or as well as he could with his arms tied. "Depends on what you mean," he answered.

"I do," Mahone told him, walking slowly around the edge of light. "I didn't always. I had the usual nightmares when I was a kid, like everyone. Things in the closet. Monsters under the bed. I'm sure you know what I mean."

He stopped somewhere behind Sam, and the hunter tried once more to look around. He still couldn't see, but a second later he heard something slide. Then, the room became slightly lighter, a frightening tinge of dark red, and he felt heat on his shoulder. Summing it up, he didn't think it would be good.

Mahone grabbed something, lifting it up, studying it. He continued in a conversational tone.

"But like everyone, I grew out of those _nightmares_. It wasn't until years later that I learned that they were real."

"What?" Sam asked, not really wanting the answer.

"The monsters under the bed." Mahone gave a chuckle. "I know things that would make your hair curl."

"I doubt that," Sam muttered, craning his neck. He didn't need to; Mahone walked back around to the front, a thin, long knife in his hand. Normally that alone wouldn't have been enough to make Sam's gut clench. But he couldn't take his eyes off the red hot blade tip.

Mahone handed the blade to Landly, handling it carefully. Sam followed its every movement, but he still managed to keep up the questions, knowing everything he learnt would be helpful.

"So you knew exactly who you were selling Laura Jennings to?" Sam demanded.

"See, that's where you're wrong,' Mahone told him as Landly closed in. "I wasn't the one who sold her. That's not my part. I grab them, give them to him, and he sells them, to the highest bidder."

"He?" Sam asked. "Who? And what do you get out of it then?"

"He's not really a who, Sam. More of a what."

Sam finally took his eyes off the slowly cooling blade, swinging round to face Mahone. "You're kidding me," he blurted out.

The owner's eyes narrowed, but he seemed to ignore the comment. Or he just didn't seem to know what to say to it. He continued as if Sam hadn't said anything. "And he's not the most patient of beings. I need to know what you know, before he comes. To sell you, that is."

Mahone leaned back, eyes glittering. "So, what motel is _Dean_ in?"

The guard grinned sadistically, looming over Sam. The knife inched closer, and the hunter tried to back away, still refusing to answer. But tied to the chair as he was, there was nowhere to go. As the silence stretched, the still hot knife pressed down and he couldn't help but scream.

* * *

The cell door opened, and Anya got quickly to her feet, backing against the wall as the first thing she saw was Greer, his face tight with pleasure, looming over her. He came in first, stopping just beyond the door, holding it open with one hand. She swallowed at the promising look in his eye, and glared up at him, determined not to let her fear show. Neither looked away, not until a limp body was thrown into the cell.

"Sam!" Anya cried, diving to her knees beside him. He groaned at her touch, and rolled over, wincing as he did so. She gaped at the bruises forming on his face, and looked up, anger flaring inside.

"Sam, are you okay?" she asked. He looked around and found her eyes, nodding slightly as he got to a sitting position, gripping his wounded shoulder as he did. She looked closer and saw his shirt had been singed, a hole showing the burnt, flamed skin beneath it.

"What did they do to you?" she muttered softly. He looked at her again, his eyes clearly telling her he was fine – and clearly telling her he was lying. But he wasn't the only one who heard her question.

"We made him talk," Mahone's voice suddenly said, and she looked up to see him standing in the doorway. She couldn't help the glare that suddenly twisted her features.

"You fucking bastard," she cried. "How could you sell out your own species like that?"

Mahone raised an eyebrow, obviously amused. "Me, Anya? Sam's the one who gave up his own partner."

To her surprise, Sam flinched, looking down and away from her, before looking up, guilt in his eyes. But she didn't really see that.

"How do you know my name?" she demanded. Mahone's grin deepened.

"Sam told us. Sam told us a lot of things, actually. By an hour past sunset, we'll have his partner, and your brother, and you'll all four be gone on little trips leading, most probably, to your death."

The door slammed shut as his words echoed through the cell in more ways than one. Anya gasped as she stared at Sam, finally catching his guilty look.

"You gave them up?" she asked, still not quite believing it. He shook his head earnestly, but she couldn't help but think it was a little too earnest.

"No, Anya, I swear… I didn't… I…" He looked up at the cell door, and then up at the dim light illuminating the small room. And then, finally, back at her.

"Anya, I swear I didn't give them up."

But, taking in his bruises, the way he hunched over as if there were more she couldn't see, the light to his eyes… she couldn't help but believe what Mahone had said.

* * *

So, what do you think? Did Sam break? Or has he got a plan? You tell me… even though I wrote it, so I know what's going to happen. See you tomorrow! Hopefully.


	7. Chapter 7: Best Laid Plans

**Warning:** Again, swearing, sorry. I'm a potty-typer

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Chapter 7: Best Laid Plans

"Thanks anyway."

Having kept his voice calm until then, Dean growled as he slammed the phone shut, his frustration getting the better of him.

"Nothing!" he cried, looking over at Ash who was sitting on Sam's bed. The younger man had his own computer out, typing away furiously. He paused as Dean looked over at him.

"No luck with the GPS in his phone then?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Dean shook his head, rubbing his eyes to remove the grit building up. He needed sleep. He knew that. But there was no way in hell he was sleeping, not until he got Sam back.

"Have you got anything on Mahone?" the older hunter asked as he got up from the chair to make a coffee. He had lost track of how many he had had. He knew he would be living off the stuff for the next however long.

"I've got a list of his properties. He's not just into the whole restaurant, club thing. He's got eight houses as well. Four of them he rents out, two of which are rented by the guys who run the coffee shop and the bar. Another two are empty. Another is for his, for his parents."

"His parents?" Dean asked, frowning. "The guy's a heartless bastard, he sells his own species to demons, cults, vampires, but he gives a home to his parents." He shook his head. "People are so much harder to understand than demons. Seriously, they're crazy."

Ash shrugged in what Dean took for agreement. "The world's weird. What are you going to do? Anyway, the last place is for himself and his wife. I got a picture of it, it's freaking huge. The biggest house in the town."

Dean leaned back against the counter. "All right. So do you think he'd take Sam and Anya there? Or one of his empty places? Or somewhere else that has absolutely nothing to do with him?"

Dean groaned, not giving Ash a chance to answer, and rubbed his eyes again. "It could be anywhere," he said in answer to his own question. "They could be anywhere!"

Ash put the laptop aside, his face a picture of calm. All except his eyes. But he shook his head.

"They're not anywhere, Dean. They're somewhere. Somewhere that we're going to find, somewhere where they will be fine. There's no way we're not getting them back."

For a moment, Dean just stared at the kid. Then, "God, you're a mini-Sam," he muttered, looking away. But he felt better. He did. He just wished it had been Sam saying those things to him.

"All right, where do we start?" Ash asked, once more giving Dean the lead. The older hunter suspected the kid knew it would stop him from giving into the anxiety churning his gut.

"The club, like we'd planned. See whatever it was that Sam saw, don't get our asses caught like he did, and go from there."

He looked out the window, at the setting sun. Over twelve hours since Sam and Anya had been nabbed. Mahone could have done anything to them in that time. He could have gotten them out of the state, slaves to some –

He took a long sip of his coffee, drowning out the thoughts. Sam would be somewhere. Somewhere safe, somewhere unharmed, and –

He stood up straighter, whipping his head around. "Did you hear that?" he asked softly. Ash, standing as well, body tense, nodded.

"Sounded like someone outside the door," he muttered back, frowning at said door. "Someone who doesn't want to be heard."

"Grab me that shotgun," he ordered, pointing vaguely towards his bed. Ash chucked it to him, taking an hold of his own at the same time.

Dean motioned with his head towards the door, and they each took a position on either side of the door, guns in ready hands.

Ash caught Dean's gaze and nodded, understanding without any words. The younger man took a hold of the handle, knuckles white as he twisted and pulled towards him.

Dean was the first through, shotgun up, trying to hide the majority of it behind his arm. It was only loaded with rock salt, but he still didn't relish trying to explain it to anyone.

Ash appeared from behind him, his own gun up. They both looked around, but the motel was eerily empty. There was no one around.

The older man took the lead, walking past three doors, following an invisible trail. Ash came behind, walking backwards, keeping the rear. And then Dean stopped, hearing a noise once more. He leant against the wall, corner instantly to his left. The noise came again, a sort of shuffling sound.

Dean motioned to Ash that whoever was stalking them was around the corner. A second later he jumped around, gun up, finger on the trigger.

He jumped again as the beast lunged out of the trash. Or more skidded. And it was less a beast than…

"A dog," Dean laughed with relief. "It's only a dog."

Ash poked his head around the corner, taking in the scraggly mutt slinking away with its tail between its leg, glancing back in distaste at the humans who had interrupted its feast.

Dean chuckled, pulling his shotgun down and turning back. "Paranoid much?" he accused Ash, an eyebrow raised. He ducked back into the room before the younger man could accuse him of anything similar.

"Come on!" he shouted before he closed it. "We got to get ready to go to the club."

* * *

Across the other side of town, as night settled across the country side, a middle-aged couple screamed as six men burst through the door, guns raised, bodies covered in black.

The six men surrounded the two as the clutched each other, before looking at one man. He looked around, taking in the two trembling in fear, taking in the rose-covered wallpaper, the lack of anything even remotely resembling dangerous. And then he growled loudly, his voice only slightly muffled by his mask.

"The little fucker lied to us!"

* * *

Anya gaped as Sam explained what he had done. "You deliberately broke?" she asked once more, needing to make sure.

He nodded, leaning back and trying to relax against the cold wall.

"But he knew my name," she pointed out. "And he knew about Ash…"

Sam sighed. "One of them must have heard me talking with you back when they snatched us. And I think he's been watching your motel room. Or maybe he just looked into you. Or maybe he's seen Ash outside the club while you're working. You two don't exactly look different. Or did you forget you were twins?"

He shook his head, then winced. "In any case, I didn't tell him. Besides, he still thinks Dean's my partner. And he thinks I'm a cop."

"So, why'd you do that?" she asked quietly. "Why not just stay silent? They're going to find out you lied soon enough."

Sam nodded. "I know, I know." He sighed. "You don't understand, Anya. Everyone breaks. Everyone. No matter who you are, how strong you think you are, no matter how high your pain tolerance, everyone breaks during torture. It's just a matter of when and how far you're willing to be hurt."

He shook his head again, looking down. "If I had stayed silent as long as I could, I wouldn't be able to help us escape. Or at least, I don't think I would be. Mahone was intent on getting that information, and he didn't care what happened to me, as long as he got it."

"So how do you know he doesn't suspect?" she demanded cautiously. "That you lied, I mean."

His eyes clouded over, and she realized no one would ever find out what had happened to him in that time between being taken and being thrown into this cell. But he shrugged, looking down. "I don't think he does. I didn't spill quickly…" he trailed off, turning away to stare at the door.

"So what are you going to do once he finds out?" she asked after a moment, thinking. He shrugged, looking back at her.

"I hadn't thought that far ahead yet. Hopefully it'll buy us enough time."

"Buy time for what?" she questioned with a frown.

Sam grinned weakly. "For Dean to come rescue us. He's never going to let me live that down, but I don't think we're getting out of here without him and Ash."

Sudden footsteps outside the door made them both jump, and they stared wildly at each other. Sam shook his head.

"It's too soon. No way could they have found out yet!" Not unless his internal clock was seriously screwed.

But a moment later the lock on the cell door slid open and the sudden brightness of the corridor outside made them both squint, even though their own cell was illuminated.

When they could finally see, Mahone stood in the doorway, flanked by two large men. Landly was there, though Greer was missing. Sam and Anya got to their feet, the older more gingerly, taking a hold of his shoulder.

Mahone grinned. "Having a nice little chat about betrayal?" he asked. When they both remained silent, the man's grin deepened. Sam wasn't shocked to see it didn't touch his eyes. "That's okay, I wouldn't want to talk about it either. It's hard to get used to. It kind of settles in your gut, making every step weighed down by guilt… Got to that stage yet?"

He chuckled to himself, looking them both over, flatly ignoring their glares. And then, like flipping a coin, his face lost any trace of amusement, becoming a picture of seriousness.

"There's someone here who wants to see you," he snapped at them, stepping aside, and shoving Landly out of his way with his movement. Shadow moved and a slight figure moved just out of eyesight.

Sam tensed at the realization he was about to meet the one behind Mahone, behind the selling, behind everything. He was about to meet – _man, beast…_

The figure stepped around the corner, and Sam gaped, taking a step back. The man was small, but he drew attention like light drew a moth, and the hunter couldn't believe his luck. No man, no beast, but…

"Demon!"

* * *

Well, there you go, one more chapter down. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8: Finding Answers

**Warning:** My potty mouth.

**Author's Note:** Just wanted to say hey. I like having a note, I like talking to people… even if you don't talk back. Not that I mind. I mean, reviews are awesome and all (and thank you SOOOO much to everyone who has) but I understand if you really can't be bothered.

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Chapter 8: Finding Answers

The back door was guarded when Dean poked his head around the corner to peer down the alley. Ash was behind him, keeping an eye out, but he turned to face Dean as the other hunter leaned back into the shadow.

"Two guys, each side of the door. We can't sneak down the alley without them seeing us." He looked back around, quickly, taking in the eased slouch of their guarding. Facing Ash, he shook his head. "Assholes are being lazy, they're half asleep. But they'll see us coming a mile off."

Ash shrugged in the cold, his hoodie rolling on his shoulders. "So, how we going to get in? The front door's guarded as well, and they know exactly what you look like. And me too, probably."

Dean grinned. "You're going to walk right up to them," he told the younger man.

Ash gaped. "Walk… You're kidding, right? So you want them to shoot me?"

Dean punched him softly in the shoulder. "No, why the hell would I want that." He picked an empty bottle off the ground. "So walking was a bit of an exaggeration. Stagger might be better. Put your hoodie over your head. Stagger a bit, sway, don't walk in a straight line. Slur when you ask them if they can get you a free dance. Then when you're close enough, take them out."

If anything, the kid's jaw dropped further. "I am not doing that. I can't!"

Dean snorted softly. "Bullshit. You can do it. With your hoodie hiding your face, you can. It won't fit me. So I can't, and you want your sister back as much as I want Sam back. Come on, you're a hunter, we're the masters of B.S."

Ash took a step back, looking around. Then he sighed, groaning under his breath and flipping the hood over his head so it shadowed his eyes. Snatching the bottle out of Dean's hand, he literally staggered around the corner.

He had gone barely ten feet before the two guards spotted him. Sure their attention was completely on Ash, Dean ducked his head around the corner to watch the fun. He had absolute confidence that Ash could handle the two toughs. He just hoped that the confidence was well placed.

"Hey!" one of the men called out. Dean watched him take two steps down. "What the hell do you want?"

As Dean watched on, Ash stumbled to a halt, then leaned forward slightly. He could picture the young man squinting through his fake drunken state.

Then he stumbled forward again. "You two work at that club yeah?" he slurred. "The strip club, right?"

He gave a laugh, staggering into the wall and taking a mouthful from the empty bottle. Or at least, he put his fist around the top and put his fist to his mouth. But it was enough for the two men, who glanced at each other, clearly amused.

"Ah, yeah, we work at it," the same guy spoke.

"Can you get me in?" Ash asked as he staggered closer, still leaning against the wall. He was about twenty feet away now. "Cause there's a pretty girl in there… She has this nice black hair…" He paused, muttering under his breath still. Dean knew there would be a dreamy look on his face. Not that the two would be able to see it properly. "Did I mention she was real pretty?"

Fifteen feet away. "Yeah, you mentioned it," the second guy laughed. Dean watched as they glanced at each other, obviously looking forward to something. "We can get you in, I guess."

The guy placed a hand under his jacket, and Dean tensed, gripping his own gun, hoping he wasn't about to get Ash shot. The kid was five feet away now, apparently oblivious to anything the guard was about to pull. He looked up at the two with a goofy grin.

"Awesome, thanks man!" he slurred, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Can you get me a free dance with… shit, I forgot her name. Oh well, there's this other one. Nice lookin', blonde, name's Anya. Or maybe you know her better as Charlotte?"

As the guy's faces dawned in recognition, Ash lashed out, all semblance of unsteadiness gone. The bottle he held smashed as it struck the closest guy's face, and he went down heavily. The second guard wasn't close behind, hitting the ground after a nice spinning kick crushed his temple. Dean doubted he would be getting up anytime soon. Or waking, for that matter.

He jogged down the alley as Ash started fumbling about in pockets. He put his hand under one's jacket, pulling out a clear bottle. Dean gave him a frown.

"What is it?" he asked as Ash carefully unscrewed the cap. After giving a cautious sniff, the kid pulled away quickly, groaning.

"Chloroform. The bastard was going to nab me!"

Dean gave a chuckle. "Come on, find anything we can use. And their weapons. Then we'll tie them up and leave them in the dumpster with a bit of chloroform for themselves. Though I don't think that guy needs it," he pointed out, kicking the unconscious man.

Finding keys, guns and knives, and taking their black jackets, Dean and Ash picked each man up and threw him in the dumpster nearby. Then they unlocked the back door, looking about the empty corridor cautiously before entering.

"Well, we're in," Dean whispered. "Know where Mahone's office is?"

* * *

"Demon!"

Everyone turned to stare at him as the realization spilled forth from horror, his imagination never once, somehow, processing _this_. He hadn't imagined this, not this. Demons, he thought, didn't want anything but death and destruction… and this one…

The demon peered in, shocked as well, and Sam had time to glimpse something beneath its shirt before it stood up straighter. Mahone, for once, didn't seem to have a handle on the situation. And Anya was staring at the demon, face stubborn, as if refusing to see the demon beneath the human he was possessing.

"Well, that wasn't what I expected," the demon spoke finally, his voice soft but oh so hard. "Mahone, you caught me a couple of hunters."

Mahone glanced between Sam and the demon. "Hunters?" he asked finally. "I don't understand. He's just a cop."

The demon laughed and Sam felt Anya shiver beside him. He felt like shivering himself. That laugh resonated evil.

"Hunters, Mahone. Hunters of the supernatural. And he's no cop. In fact the cops are probably just as hot after him as he would be after me."

The demon shook his head, taking a step back. The club owner gaped, before shaking himself, taking a hold of his emotions to become that cold-hearted bastard once more, albeit with more than a touch of deference.

"So, I did good then?" he asked, obviously needing confirmation. But the demon snorted and for a wonder, Mahone flinched.

"Good, Mahone?" the demon laughed. "If you had known they were hunters, then yes. As it is, you've done okay. More of good luck than anything else. But hunters are well sought after. What are their names?"

Mahone licked his lips; it was becoming clear that he was terrified of the demon. "Her name's Anya Jackson. I got it off a database I ran her picture through." Sam almost lost his jaw when Mahone revealed the extent of his connections. "But him… the name on his driver's license is Sam McKinley."

The demon shook his head. "That won't be real."

"We figured," Mahone answered. "But -."

"Are you completely fucking nuts?" Sam suddenly shouted, tightening his hold on Anya. "Do you have even the slightest _idea_ what the hell you're dealing with? That bastard is a demon. A demon! As in, from hell. You know, big place, full of death, and fear and pain! And you're dealing with him! Do you want to die?"

"That's just it," Mahone snapped tersely. "I don't want to."

* * *

It took them longer than anticipated to find Mahone's office, but twenty minutes later they were in the empty room, scouring the place for any clue. Anything that Sam might have found.

"I don't know what the hell Sam was talking about," Dean muttered as he took in the chaos. "Guy's anything but clean. He's got less organization than my dad." But at least he could think about his dad without breaking into grief now.

"So maybe Sam meant something else," Ash suggested, walking in behind him. "Maybe he just meant that he didn't find anything."

Dean shook his head, refusing to believe this search would be fruitless. "No, he was hinting at something." _Guy's too clean… house on fire… funky town…_

He stopped and looked around, trying to figure out what Sam had been saying. Ash pushed past him, going to the desk to take a look at the papers. Dean scanned the room, standing still, analysing desperately.

Suddenly he frowned. "Does it really get cold in this place?" he asked Ash, not really wanting an answer. He moved to stand halfway between the heater and the fireplace, glancing between the two. Ash saw what he was looking at and frowned as well.

"Not enough for both," he muttered in agreement.

Dean studied the fireplace for a moment, wondering what it was about it that bothered him. "House on _fire_," he said slowly. "_Blaze_? I knew Sam didn't talk like that. He had to know we'd come here. He was trying to hint at something here."

Ash came and squatted in front of the fireplace, shaking his head. "It doesn't look like it's ever been used."

"Then it's clean," Dean summed up, knowing now that this had been what Sam was talking about, what had been bothering him.

The kid nodded, then leaned forward, his keen eyes picking something out. As the older hunter watched, Ash pulled a brick away. Behind it was a wooden box. And inside…

"The records of the missing people. Who they were, when he took them, when he sold them… even a few details of who he sold them too." Ash shook his head. "This'd be all the cops need to put the bastard away."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, except we're not going to the cops. As far as I'm concerned, this is still a supernatural problem. And you know what me and Sam do with evil beings who meddle in the supernatural world? We kill 'em."

Ash looked around at his harsh tone, somewhat surprised. "Bit vehement there, aren't you Dean?" he asked, standing up and putting the papers in his bag.

Dean shrugged. "The bastard's selling people. He's murdering them. And he has Sam. I'm not losing him. That son of a bitch is going down."

Sudden footsteps outside made them both pause. When they continued, Dean cursed under his breath, shoving the box back into the hole, the brick following.

"Come on," he ordered Ash as he crept silently to the door, standing as if on guard either side. It wasn't long before the feet came closer and then a man sucked through the door, blocking Ash from view.

Dean cursed at his bad luck, grabbing the guy the very same instant he spotted the hunter. Dean spun him round roughly, a strong arm tightening a rock-hard hold on the black-clad man's neck. His muscles bulged as he slowly choked the life from the man, he could feel both his pulse, and the pulse beneath his arm, could feel the man clutching at his the very same arm, scrabbling more and more weakly, desperate for life-saving air. Feet clawed at the floor, trying to find purchase, trying to find some way to get out of the headlock. But slowly, oh so very slowly, the man's struggles died down, and then finally stopped. Dean held a second longer, just a second, before letting go. The man slumped to the ground, folding in on himself, not moving. Dean took a step back, gasping for breath as if he had run miles.

Ash swallowed loudly as he knelt by the man, checking for a pulse. Dean slowly got his breathing under control.

"I never did that before," he muttered, still not quite believing he had. "Not to a human, anyway."

"He's not dead," Ash murmured with relief. "He's still got a pulse. You didn't kill him." The tone of his voice told Dean he thought the older hunter had. Dean had been almost sure of it himself.

"Come on," Dean said after a moment. "We should get out of here before someone wonders where this guy is."

Ash nodded, getting to his feet. Together they moved the man behind the desk, out of view of anyone in the hallway, and then left the room cautiously.

"So, we gonna leave?" Ash asked quietly as they paused before going round a corner. Dean snorted softly.

"As if. We still don't know where Sam and Anya are. Come on, we'll go back downstairs."

He trotted off, feet padding almost silently on the wooden floor. The stairs creaked under his weight, but no one appeared to shoot him down, for which he was truly grateful. Soon they were back on the first level, going for room to room.

"Someone get Greer!"

The shout echoed through the back of the club, alerting the two hunters to the fact that the guy's unconscious body had been found. They shared a look before pounding feet took their attention. Someone was coming downstairs.

"Quick, in here," Ash ordered, half pulling Dean with him through the door. The older hunter didn't really need it; a bit like Ash, he wasn't too interested in being seen or caught.

What they hadn't expected were the stairs. Ash, the first through the door, was the first to fall, his grip on Dean's jacket pulling the other man with him. Struggling to bite back yelps, knowing the various thuds would be enough to pull anyone to them, they tumbled down the flight, landing in a bruised heap at the bottom.

Groaning as quietly as he could, Dean got gingerly to his feet, hoping he could avoid stepping on Ash. Hope was all he could do; it was nearly pitch black darkness.

He got out his lighter, knowing a torch could attract more attention than they wanted, and looked around. Ash's shadow rose beside him, and, together, their eyes fell upon a door.

They shared a look. "Wonder what's behind creepy door number one," Dean muttered. "Here hold this."

He tried the handle under the looming light in Ash's hand, but found it locked. It wasn't a problem, not once he got his lock pick out.

Ash went through first, gun up, lighter held high. Dean followed, trusting the younger man to secure the area while he quietly shut the door and locked it. He was just about to turn when he felt a tug on his jacket.

"Ah, Dean…" Ash spoke, his concentration obviously elsewhere.

Dean turned, anxiety once more churning his gut, though Ash didn't sound alarmed. More shocked than anything.

He didn't know what he expected to find. Man, beast, naked women dancing to music he and Ash couldn't hear.

But whatever he imagined, it wasn't a young women hanging by her wrists from the ceiling, bright blue eyes staring at them with nothing less than pure terror.

* * *

Dum dum da!


	9. Chapter 9: A Debt Never Paid

**Warning:** Swearing, as usual.

**Author's Note:** Sorry about last night, I had to work all of a sudden, so there I was all night. Stacking shelves. Yay for me! But yeah, sorry.

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Chapter 9: A Debt Never Paid

_He didn't know what he expected to find. Man, beast, naked women dancing to music he and Ash couldn't hear._

_But whatever he imagined, it wasn't a young women hanging by her wrists from the ceiling, bright blue eyes staring at them with nothing less than pure terror._

* * *

"Jesus, get her down," Dean spat after a moment, taking in the bruises and welts with horror. He leapt forward, matched stride for stride by Ash, and together they gently took a hold of her body. She quivered under their touch, but didn't scream, barely even whimpered.

Dean stood on the balls of his feet, using his knife to cut the ropes from her wrists. Slowly, ever so slowly, Ash lowered her. She cried out as her arms dropped, though biting back the scream of pain that was so evident in those expressive blue eyes.

Ash held her up as she continued to breathe heavily through her nose, silent tears rolling down her face, the light of the torch quickly replacing the lighter. In the light of the latter, Dean would later remark, her bruises seemed too dark against an unearthly sheen to her skin.

"Did Mahone do this to you?" he asked gently. She nodded, grimacing at the pain.

"I found out," she muttered, voice laced with emotion. Relief being the main one. Dean wondered how long she had been left hanging there.

"About him selling people?" Ash asked. She nodded once more.

"About that. And about other things. Things you wouldn't believe."

Dean couldn't help the sad smirk that came over his face. "Oh yeah? Try us."

She looked up at him, and he was almost mesmerized by those eyes. He knew why Mahone had wanted her in his club. Those eyes alone…

Those eyes weighed him, judging him. Finally she seemed to come to a conclusion. "About his deal."

* * *

"Are you completely fucking nuts?" Sam suddenly shouted, tightening his hold on Anya. "Do you have even the slightest idea what the hell you're dealing with? That bastard is a demon. A demon! As in, from hell. You know, big place, full of death, and fear and pain! And you're dealing with him! Do you want to die?"

"That's just it," Mahone snapped tersely. "I don't want to."

Sam took a mental step back. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice quiet. There was something to the man's voice, a primal fear, a terror, a knowledge. He couldn't well explain it, but it squashed his anger.

"I mean, if I don't deliver, I die. And I don't want to die!"

The demon grinned down at Sam as the hunter stared in horror at Mahone. "You're a sick fucking freak, you know that," he muttered, shaking his head. And at it, Mahone seemed to snap.

"I have no choice. It's me or them. And I'm choosing me. You don't understand!" Mahone once more lost a grip on his emotions, running a frantic hand through his hair. "The others who had made deals were all dead, dead in horrible ways… I didn't want to die… I made another deal, my life for the continual supply of others. It's no choice!"

And it was then that Sam realized. "You made a deal with him?" he whispered in horror. "What for? What did you want so desperately that you'd turn to the thing humans have abhorred for centuries?"

Mahone chuckled grimly. "Success. My club was shit. I made a deal to turn it all around."

"And then a year ago the demon came back wanting payment in full!" Sam snapped, that anger returning. "Only you didn't want to pay the price. And now countless others are!"

The man shrugged. "Yep, that about sums it up."

Sam was stopped from retorting by the sudden ringing of a cell phone. Everyone looked around, wondering who it belonged to. After a moment Landly answered it, moving back for privacy, though they could all hear it.

Ignoring it, Sam looked down at Anya, who smiled comfortingly up at him. He smiled quickly back, though the anger still boiled below the surface. Mahone was even more of a bastard then he thought.

The cell phone snapping shut woke him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Landly smiling at him in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"That was Drury," the guard said. "About an hour ago he stormed the address where this kid said his partner was. Gave a couple one hell of a fright. He's bringing them in now."

Sam swallowed as Mahone stared at him, though it was from the guilt that someone had actually been staying where he had sent Mahone's troops. And that he had gotten them into the same trouble he himself was more than knee deep in. Then he shrugged.

"What did you expect me to do, tell the truth?"

* * *

Five minutes later Danielle, the girl they had found hanging by her wrists, had told all she knew of Mahone. She had found out that day about his deal with a demon, the reluctance to pay his debt, and the selling of others to make up that very debt. In all, Dean was now definitely more than willing to shoot the bastard. When Dani had found out, Mahone had attacked her, beating her, stringing her up exactly how Dean and Ash had found her, leaving her there – all because she had gone snooping around after 'Charlotte's' disappearance.

"So you believe me?" Dani asked when she finished. Dean nodded, smiling understandingly.

"Yeah. It isn't the first time we've run into things like this," he told her. He looked up at Ash. "I think we should get out of here now," he suggested.

Ash nodded, helping Dani to her feet. Dean went to the door, opening it to look up. There wasn't going to be an easy way out of there. But hopefully with Dani's help, they would manage.

He trotted carefully up the stairs, wincing as they creaked. At the top he listened for a moment, barely breathing as he strained to hear for any sound that might be a man waiting to shoot him as he emerged from the basement-like room.

No sound came though, and he motioned to Ash and Dani to follow, putting his hand on the door and turning, pushing the door slowly.

The light was nearly blinding after the darkness of the room below, but his hearing was proven correct; no one was waiting as he stepped out into the corridor.

"Dani, which way?" he asked. She pointed in one direction, to their left, too breathless to speak. He nodded, eyes conveying his gratitude, before leading the way.

They were almost out when things went south. Or at least, Dean was sure they were. He could see what he took for the door to the outside, a heavy-looking thing barred and locked. He was scrutinising every detail, hoping he could pick the three locks before they were discovered.

And that was when three men stepped out, guns up, eyes visibly cold even at that distance. Dean reacted first, spinning and ducking, half-dragging Ash and Dani back up the corridor. The first bullets whizzed past them while they were still five feet from the corner. Due to luck, good or bad, it wasn't until they were diving around that very corner that a bullet struck.

Dani screamed as the bullet tore through her leg, dragging her to the ground as the three of them rounded the corner. Ash fell with her, and Dean knelt before them both, cursing under his breath. No one could hear it above the screams suddenly coming from the back of the club, women crying out as pandemonium began. Dean wondered if anyone in the club knew what was going on.

"Which way, Dani?" he demanded, ignoring the commotion, ignoring the bullets getting closer, ignoring emotion as he took control, knowing caring for her leg would see all three dead. It was cold, he knew, just like he knew that later he would hate himself for it. But for now, they had to get out of the club. "Dani, please. Which way?"

She pulled her attention to him, those blue eyes settling on his. "Down the hall, until you hit the stairs. Go up, and around, through the third door on the right." She paused for a moment, groaning and closing her eyes. Dean noticed Ash's knuckles turning white around her hand. "There's a fire escape out the window. You can use it to get back down and to your car. Quickly, go!"

Dean nodded and bent to pick her up. He felt her protest, knowing she wanted them to leave her, thought they would, but the jolt as he took her body in his arms quietened them. He looked at Ash.

"Lead the way," he ordered, his voice surprisingly calm, considering the bullets just about raining down on them.

They raced as quickly as they could down the hall, though Dean struggled, even under Dani's small weight. He felt a stab of guilt every time she winced or cried out, his grip squeezing her bruises, or the ribs he was sure were broken. She wasn't in great shape. None of them were, considering she was also leaving a blood trail for anyone to follow.

The stairs were hard, but Dean managed, trying to soothe Dani as she clung to him. Her groans were coming less often, her face going pale, her breathing more laboured. And to make matters worse, the shooters were pounding after them, guns paused, but intent obvious as they raced after the three.

Suddenly the stairs ended and Dean spun around the banister, immediately looking for the third door on the right. What his eyes found instead would haunt his dreams for a long time to come.

A man stood waiting for them a small distance down the hall, gun up, face impassive, a look far worse than the icy calmness of the three men chasing them. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As Dean's eyes rested on the man, he swore he saw the trigger finger tighten, pulling back, and letting loose.

The bullet, going far too slow when Dean thought back to it, the only way he could remember it, sailed through the air. At the same time, it went far too fast for him to be able to move. His eyes could only follow it, heartbeat ringing in his ears and drowning out all other sound.

Blood sprayed over his face as the bullet found its target, and Dani's weight slumped in his arms. The shooter didn't have a chance to shoot again, as Ash stuck three rounds in him. Dean didn't see it, not the shots, not the man falling to the ground, nothing. Any chance of thinking, of retaliating, was gone, swamped by the image of the life fading from those haunting blue eyes, and the too-neat hole squarely between them.

He dropped to his knees, unable to bear his own weight anymore, let alone hers. She rolled from his arms, and he could only watch, petrified by what had just happened. Sound was gone, touch too, and smell, and everything. Everything except a horrible, hollow feeling in his gut as those eyes stared up at him and the feeling of her blood dripping down his face.

A sudden tug on his jacket pulled him part of the way from the oblivion he had been spiralling down. Feeling as if he had just run a mile, though he lacked the breathlessness, he looked into Ash's pale face.

"Come on," the younger man said softly, the urgency nonetheless obvious in his voice. "We have to get out of here."

Dean stumbled to his feet, lurching into a run as he heard someone count to three. Later he realized it was Ash. At the time he still felt too dumb-struck to do much but follow. He could still feel the weight in his arms, could easily remember the crash in his shoulder as her body snapped back, the force of the bullet passing through her.

Somehow he made it into the room and down the fire escape. The cold of the night air was as good as a slap in the face and he took charge once more, taking lead position as he and Ash ran from the alley. They didn't stop, hearts pounding in time with feet.

It wasn't until they reached the car that Dean staggered to a halt. His whole body shook, a mixture of horror, guilt and shock. Ignoring Ash's blatant worry, he walked to the gutter and, one hand on the Impala's hood, vomited until there was nothing to bring up but those sensations of Dani dying in his arms. Those sensations that felt so familiar from the moment those weeks ago when his own father had died in his arms.

After what seemed like an eternity, he stood up straight, shaking only from exhaustion now. Ash was standing awkwardly behind him.

"Are you -?" he began to ask. Dean cut him off.

"I'm fine!" he snapped, grabbing his keys from his pocket and opening the trunk.

Ash seemed to ignore him. "Cause if you need to -." Once more Dean cut him off, standing up straight so fast all Ash could do was flinch before the older hunter's fist was tight in the younger hunter's shirt.

"I swear, if you say talk, I will kill you," Dean threatened, his face an inch from Ash's. Shoving the kid away harshly, he tossed his gun into the trunk and went around to the driver's side, glaring at his current partner over the roof. "Casualties happen," he continued in a hard voice. "And talking isn't going to bring them back."

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Casualties happen… poor Dean, so much emotional turmoil. Hopefully I'll post tomorrow night!


	10. Chapter 10: Sealing A Deal

**Warning:** Swearing, but you know that by now.

**Author's Note:** Oh my God, I am so sorry about not posting for two days straight. Friend's birthday on Friday, movies last night because… well, mainly cause I wanted to. But yeah, sorry, I'll try not to let it happen again! Here's the next chapter as an apology.

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Chapter 10: Sealing a Deal

_Sam swallowed as Mahone stared at him, though it was from the guilt that someone had actually been staying where he had sent Mahone's troops. And that he had gotten them into the same trouble he himself was more than knee deep in. Then he shrugged._

"_What did you expect me to do, tell the truth?"_

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"You little fucking shit!" Mahone swore as he leapt forward, eyes wide and mad. Sam leapt back, shoving Anya out of the way as the club owner barrelled towards him, apparently driven insane for the moment by his fury.

And then suddenly he stopped, arms stretched out and reaching for Sam's neck. The hunter gaped as Mahone twitched, disbelief quietening his eyes. He still seemed to be straining, while being frozen in mid-air.

"Revenge," the demon spoke up quietly, that power all but resonating as it came into the cell. "Is a dish best served cold. Isn't that what you humans say?"

He stopped even with Mahone, staring down at the hunter with a promise in his eyes. Sam refused to back down, matching the blue-eyed stare with a stubbornness inherent to him.

And then Mahone stumbled forward, released from whatever telekinetic bonds the demon had placed him in. But he didn't lash out, just stood up, straightening his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

"Well, looks like we're going to have to ask you a few more questions," Mahone said quietly, voice incredibly hard. Sam just transferred his gaze to the man, not speaking. Mahone was the first to look away, back to his men. "Bring him."

Sam began to back into the corner as two men came forward, arms raised menacingly. He wasn't shocked to find one was Landly. But it wasn't only men he had to contend with.

An invisible push made him thud hard into the corner a few feet back, hard enough to stun him and send him to his knees. A kick sent him down the rest of the way, and he groaned, already hurting there from being run into by a car.

And that was when Anya jumped in, tackling one of the men to the ground before laying into him as hard as she could. Which, to Sam's pleasure, was pretty hard.

But he didn't take the time to watch. Freed of one captor, he attacked Landly, shoving him hard and following through, landing on the guard and driving his knees into the man's stomach. He heard the grunt as the air left the man beneath him.

Suddenly something picked him up, and he flew through the air, crashing into the cell wall hard on the other side. Anya landed somewhere nearby, and she was the first thing he looked for as he staggered to his feet, hurting from his collision.

Two men grabbed him instantly, driving him back into the wall with a sharp thud. They held him with all their strength, which was too much for Sam to fight back against. He could only watch the scene that played out.

Anya was getting to her feet as well, shaking her head to clear the daze. And as she looked up, the demon was the first thing she saw. It grabbed onto her upper arms, walking forwards until she had her back against the wall. She couldn't help but flinch away from the sadistic smile on its face, wincing as the grip around her arms tightened. She grabbed onto its forearms, but that did nothing.

The demon bore down on her, nose barely half an inch from hers. "Where's your brother staying?" it snapped. She glared up at it.

"Go to hell!" she spat, crying out as the demon tightened its grip once more.

"Stop it," Sam cried, struggling against the two men holding him. But no matter how hard he fought, it was two against one, and he was hurting. "You kill her and you'll get nothing!"

The demon gave him a smirk, turning its head slightly so it could watch him from the corner of its eye, watch his reaction as it fluidly shifted its grip from Anya's right arm to her jaw, grabbing her left wrist so tight he could almost hear the bones grinding.

She gave a cry of pain that was cut off half way through as the demon tightened its hand on her jaw, the knuckles white on the possessed man. Sam struggled forward, moving barely half an inch against the two men holding him.

"If you kill her, you know I'll never tell you anything!" Sam screamed desperately, furious as he watched the life being squashed from Anya. Far too literally for his liking.

"We'll see," the demon responded, not even caring about what he was doing enough to watch the girl as he killed her. His eyes met Sam's, and the hunter hoped he wasn't about to get Anya killed.

Shoving any guilt about the future away, he felt a snarl contort his face, let the rage bubble away until it flowed through him, giving him strength.

"Let her go," he warned one last time, an almost whispered promise that seemed to echo in the cell. But the demon's grip didn't loosen at all and he could see the pain sending Anya closer and closer to oblivion.

As he watched her eyes flutter closed, Sam pulled hard on the two men holding him back. Somehow, a wordless shout accompanying it, he pulled free, turning right to punch the man there, before swinging back around with his elbow to knock out the second man. In a matter of moments he was free, jumping forward and tackling the demon to the ground.

It cried out in shock as he landed on top of it. But Sam didn't stop there, using his anger to fuel his strength again, punching the demon as hard as he could as many times as he could.

To his surprise, he got in a few more punches than he had thought he would before the demon fought back. That still didn't mean there were many, just enough to bruise the face before a hand snaked out and grabbed his neck.

He scrabbled for the hand as he felt the circulation being cut off, felt the blood pounding in his ears, felt his lungs screaming for air instantly. The demon stood, taking the hunter with it, walking forward, eyes icy and furious.

It took Sam a moment to gather himself, falling to his knees, head pounding, feeling the blood creep down the back of his neck. Somehow he had ended up by the wall, and by the headache beginning in his head, he guessed the damn demon had smashed his head into said wall.

He groaned, struggling to get to his elbows and knees, let alone his feet. He needn't have bothered; the demon helped him up, shoving him hard into the wall and taking a strong hold on his neck again.

Sam gripped its arm, trying anything to break free, punching, kicking, scratching. But it was like pushing against a brick wall, and just as frustrating when the demon held him up like he was nothing, letting in just enough air that he had to strain to breathe.

"You little son of a bitch!" the demon spat vehemently. "I ought to rip your guts from your body." And as if it were going to, it dug its nails into his shirt, making him wince and squirm unwillingly. But it didn't go deep, just deep enough to cause pain, where it stopped and cocked its head almost thoughtfully.

"Or maybe…" It moved its palm, laying it over his heart almost gently. "Or maybe your heart."

Sam couldn't help but scream as he felt his heart lurch, the demon's power taking it, seizing it, until he could feel it stopping, urging to be free of his chest.

A moment later he sagged to the floor, gasping for breath, but so glad to be doing so. He stayed on the floor, heart pounding, aching, one hand to his throat where the demon had held him. But the demon wasn't done with him yet.

It knelt down, one knee on his back, digging into the area where his kidney was. Then it roughly took one of his hands, squeezing it; Sam could feel their pulses beating as one and he tried to shake loose, to no avail. The demon leaned down over him.

"Some demons seal their deals with a kiss," it whispered to him alone. No one else heard it. "I myself find that's too much contact with humans. Who knows where you've been? A simple… handshake… is enough."

Power surged suddenly, and Sam screamed, back arching in time with the abrupt steady throb bursting through his body. It was pain and pleasure mixed in with each other, and he felt his brain aching all over as it tried to deal with the sudden onset of touch, the sudden overwhelming sensations flowing from cell to cell, filling his body until he couldn't take it anymore and fell into white that faded to dark.

* * *

The hood of the Impala was strangely reassuring underneath him as he sat outside the motel room, watching the world go by in ignorance of what had happened, and of what would happen. The traffic passed, people on their way to one thing or another, lights almost blinding, if Dean had been in the right frame of mind to look at them, to take notice of them.

In comparison, the parking lot of the motel was eerily quiet and dark, the neon sign the only light there was away from the busy road. But Dean didn't even see that, as he sat on his car and just allowed himself to drown in nothingness for a time.

It was only a few hours past dark, not even midnight, and it felt like eternity had passed. An eternity since Sam and Anya had disappeared, and a shorter eternity since he had let a girl die in his arms. It didn't feel right. If he allowed himself to think about it.

Dean and Ash had retired to the motel to grab an hour or two of sleep, knowing they had to be thinking clearly before planning their next move. The kid was in the room, using Sam's bed, though he had been uncomfortable about it at first. But like Dean had pointed out, it wasn't like the younger Winchester would be using it anytime soon.

Sighing and rubbing his eyes, Dean looked up, picking at his fingernails. He had tried sleeping, knowing he was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. In fact, he had been the one to press the issue of them getting some sleep. But he couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt more awake than he ever had before.

He checked his watch and sighed again, knowing the time to sleep had passed. Groaning under his breath, he slid off the hood and crept quietly into the motel room.

Ash was already up, slipping on his shoes and rubbing grit from his eyes. He looked up as Dean came in, obviously worried.

"Did you get any sleep?" the kid asked. Dean just rolled his eyes.

"I've been thinking about what we should do next," he said, turning on the light. Ash winced at the sudden brightness, and yawned, sitting down at the table. He nodded.

"Me too. And I think it's the same. Mahone's house, right?"

It was Dean's turn to nod. "Grab a car that's a lot less conspicuous than mine, and sit and watch it. Wait for the bastard to come home." He held back his own yawn and continued. "We know they'll be watching the club, so it's out of the question."

Ash nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. But I don't think we should steal a car."

Dean frowned. "Why not? Haven't you or Anya ever done that before?"

Ash gave him a look. "Of course we have. How could we not have, with the work we do? Just like I'm sure you and Sam have."

Dean gave a cocky grin, and it seemed to wash some of his weariness away. "So what do you think we should do?" he asked the kid.

"Break into his house. Have a little chat with his wife."

Dean's jaw dropped. "What do you mean, have a little chat? Are you crazy? We're not taking the woman hostage!"

Ash leaned forward, obviously prepared to defend his plan. "Look, we would only talk with her, I swear. I'm not about to go torture her."

Dean interrupted before he could continue. "Damn straight you're not! Ash, you're nuts. And here I was thinking your sister was the insane one. Your family reunions must be fun."

Ash rolled his eyes. "Look, calm down, Dean. It's logical. Either Mahone's wife knows about what her bastard of a husband does, which means she's no innocent in all this. Or she doesn't, and she could help us when she finds out what that son of a bitch does."

Dean shook his head. "Or she could think we're a pair of loonies, in which case, she'll call the cops, or Mahone, or both, and Sam and Anya are lost."

Ash frowned. "We're not going to let her call the cops," he pointed out. "Come on, it's the plan none of them will suspect. And I know she can help us. I know it!"

And that was the logic which ended with Dean pulling up outside Mahone's mansion nearly half an hour later, preparing to take a woman hostage.

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Again, sorry about no posting for ages, life, you know, it's a biatch.


	11. Chapter 11: Mena

**Disclaimer:** Thought I should just remind you all that no, I don't own Supernatural.

**Warning:** I think you've gotten the drift by now.

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Chapter 11: Mena

Sam woke with a headache that seemed to pound throughout his whole body, making him shake, or tremble. The room was dark, and he had a hard time putting it together that that was because he had his eyes closed. He kept them closed though, thinking, or knowing instinctively, that opening them would take a lot of hard work and only end in a little more pain to add to the lake of it building inside of him.

He groaned, shifting slightly on the hard, cold ground, and he flinched when a hand touched his cheek. But a soothing voice, incoherent in the jumble of his head, let him know he could rest, and he drifted for a moment in a lesser darkness than unconsciousness.

Then a loud banging came and he winced, again as he heard screaming. He groaned, crying out softly as it seemed like everything began aching, curling up slightly. He opened his eyes.

The dim light of the cell seemed to shatter his sight for a moment, and he blinked, fixing his eyes and bringing them to focus on a rectangular blackness in the wall. It took him a moment to realize it was a door.

A second later he heard the voice again, and he struggled to concentrate on it, rolling over slightly to get a good look at the girl who had been helping him.

He recognised Anya seconds later and he smiled slightly, before wincing. Another scream made him cringe, and struggled to his elbows, waiting there as the room began to spin.

"Sam," Anya breathed in the abrupt quiet that followed a slamming door. He heard it, and knew the sounds, and he turned to her.

"Help me up, Anya," he half-ordered, flailing slightly as he tried to keep still. She made a noise that he recognised as frustration, but still got behind him, helping him to sit completely up. But she didn't let him go, for which he was grateful. Not that she would ever know that. Instead, she helped him slide back, until he was leaning against the cold wall. He put a hand to his heart, wincing as some aches subsided, leaving localised pain in his head, heart and stomach.

"What happened?" he asked, turning to Anya where she was leaning beside him. She looked at him.

"What do you remember?" she asked back, looking a little sad. Sam shrugged and instantly regretted it as the bullet in his shoulder made itself known once more. He had almost forgotten about it. In fact, that whole fight was a little hazy, worryingly so considering it hadn't been that long ago.

"Not much," the hunter admitted, putting a hand to his head. "There was a… a demon?"

Anya bit her lip, but nodded. She was obviously worried. "Yeah, the demon who is running Mahone. The bastard made a deal, the demon didn't take the payment, at least not like it should have. And now Mahone's giving it people in return for keeping his life."

She sighed, looking away slightly. "Then Mahone got a phone call about your lie, and he got angry. He tried to attack you, but the demon stopped him. We all had a bit of a fight, and then the demon stopped it. It grabbed me…" She motioned at her jaw and for the first time he noticed the bruising hand mark around it. He frowned, and memory came back.

"It was trying to kill you," Sam muttered, looking away and down. "I tackled it… then it… it made a deal?"

"A deal?" Anya asked. "What do you mean?"

Sam shook his head, rubbing his eyes and feeling very tired all of a sudden. "I don't know. It said something about sealing deals with a handshake, and it grabbed my hand… The rest is blank." He looked up at her. "What happened after I fell unconscious?"

She shook her head. "Not much. Mahone got another phone call… something happened at the club. Something to do with Ash and Dean, I'm guessing."

Sam gave a slight chuckle, and wished he hadn't, when he felt nausea return. Grimacing, he shook his head. "They got away, I'm sure of it. I know he's still out there."

Anya nodded. "Well, Mahone wasn't very happy when he left." She smiled. "I'm guessing they're still out there, too."

Sam nodded and laid his head back against the wall. Feeling tired, he closed his eyes, barely even flinching when he felt Anya's hand on his.

"Sam, you okay?" she asked quietly. He nodded without opening his eyes.

"Fine, just feeling a little tired. It's been a big day."

She gave a small snort. "I know. Maybe it's your concussion. I don't think the bleeding stopped until just a while ago."

Sam's eyes shot open, something – he didn't really think it was worry – churning his gut.

"How long was I out?" he asked, staring at her and refusing to let the double vision worry him. She shrugged, frowning as she caught his anxiety.

"Don't know. Maybe an hour, a little longer."

Sam put a hand to the back of his head, feeling blindly about. Tiny flakes of dried blood came away with his hand, and he shook his head, staring at the flecked limb in front of him.

"The demon did something to me," he breathed, wishing he hadn't when Anya's face fell.

"What?" she demanded, getting to her knees as if ready to fight. But Sam shook his head.

"I don't know. But it shouldn't have taken that long for the bleeding to stop. It did something to me." That bubble of anxiety was growing, and it wasn't doing the ache in his gut any good.

A knock at the door interrupted both of their worry, making them jump. Anya stood and after a moment, helped Sam to his feet as well. They both wanted to face Mahone's latest challenge proudly, and Sam would be damned if he let a little weakness and vertigo stop him from that.

A second knock made them share a look, realizing that it was doubtful that Mahone would knock once, let alone twice. Anya just shrugged, and looked back at the door.

"Come in," Sam suggested quietly, adjusting his voice so he knew it wouldn't carry much farther past the door. And the door opened slowly, just enough so a small head could peek through.

It was a woman, in her late twenties, obviously timid, limp brown hair framing a pale face that hadn't seen the sun in a while. Her eyes darted about everywhere, never resting on one thing too long, always expecting an attack. Sam and Anya shared another glance as she came in and shut the door behind her.

"Who are you?" Anya demanded, taking a protective step forward that made Sam want to roll his eyes. He didn't, keeping his gaze firmly on the woman instead.

Her eyes continued to dart about, seeking refuge that wasn't there. "My name's Mena. Do you want something to eat, or drink?"

"Eat, or drink?" Sam repeated, not knowing what was going on. Was this some ploy of Mahone's?

But Mena nodded earnestly, pulling a bag around to the front and diving into it.

"What is this?" Anya spat suddenly, making the woman jump. "What do you want?"

The woman began backing away, frightened by the display of anger. "I swear, nothing. Isaac doesn't know I'm here. I… I just wanted to help you get used to life down here… I know you must be hungry, and thirsty…"

She trailed off, eyes planted firmly on them, hand feeling about behind her for the door. Sam lurched forward as he realized they were about to lose the one possible source of help available to them.

"Mena, wait," he begged softly, making his movements as slow and unthreatening as he could. "Please… we are hungry."

She paused, going so still he almost thought she had been frozen that way. But then she nodded, breaking the sudden stillness of the cell and walking forward. Her hands were back in the bag, but she kept her eyes on them, as if she had suddenly decided they were the threat she had been seeking. Bravely though, she came to them, kneeling and laying food and bottle of water out.

The smell of stale bread had never seemed so welcoming to the hunters as they knelt with her, doing so slowly. Sam could feel his stomach growling at the food, and he realized he hadn't realized how hungry he actually was.

Beside him Anya was licking her lips. With a questioning glance at Mena, they waited for permission before digging in, tearing into the bread with a ferocity that surprised them. The water wasn't far behind in being almost inhaled, drinking as fast as they could.

After a moment Sam came to his senses, slowing down before he gave himself stomach cramps. He put a hand on Anya's arm, and she caught his meaning, beginning to chew before swallowing. And she chewed as if savouring even the stale bread with nothing on it. It was like a feast.

They finished the meal in silence, taking little time to complete what Mena had brought, even when attempting to take their time. Mena watched with strange fascination, watched every bite and sip they took in a way that would have made Sam feel nervous if he couldn't see the terror in her eyes as well. She was frightened of them, but wanted to help them. He knew she was no threat to them.

After licking the last crumb off his fingers, he shared a look with Anya. There was determination in her eyes as well.

"Thank you, Mena," Sam offered, looking at the woman. She glanced away from his gaze, but he didn't remove his. "But can I ask why? Why are you helping us?"

She shrugged, beginning to search for an escape route again. Sam wondered if he wanted to know what had happened to this woman to make her like this.

"I help everyone Isaac brings down, as long as he doesn't find out. He hasn't, yet. Please, don't tell him, please!"

Sam shook his head, frowning with sympathy. "He won't find out from us, I swear." Anya nodded her agreement beside him, and it made Mena's face soften, made her appear years younger.

"Thank you," she murmured. "My life wouldn't be worth living if he found out."

Sam refrained from asking how it was worth living now, and glanced down, struggling to decide whether to ask her or not. In the end, he decided to.

"Mena…" he began. "Why are you down here?" It wasn't what he really wanted to ask, but it was a start.

She shrugged, visibly withdrawing into herself once more. "I found out, about his deal. When he found out that I knew, he became… so angry. I have never seen anything like it. He almost killed me then and there. I was a dancer, in his club, back when I was free. I was one of the first. I wanted to know how it was all of a sudden so great, so liked. And I kept on digging… until I ended up here." She shook her head, staring down. "But that was a world and a lifetime ago."

"And you've never fought back?" Anya demanded. "Never tried to escape?"

Mena looked up at them both, confusion lighting her features. "Escape?" she asked, nearly incredulous. "Escape to what?"

Her answer confused the hunters. "Escape from here," Anya told her. "Back… back to reality."

This time Mena laughed, a deep, throaty, bitter sound that reverberated around the cell. It went on long and hard, so bitter it chilled Sam's heart. Beside him Anya's jaw dropped, stunned by the only reaction they had never imagined.

Finally Mena wound down, eyes harder than they would ever have expected from the woman, taking both their gazes and holding them easily and equally.

"You can't escape from here. You don't get it," she told them harshly. "_This_ is your reality now. There's no escape _back_. The only way out is when Mahone takes you to the demon."

Sam frowned at her utter desolation. "If you can help us out of here, we can help you out as well," he told her.

She reacted like he had slapped her, leaning back and sitting straight up, face going white. "Help you… No, I can't do that. I can't, don't ask me…"

She stood so quickly it made Sam's head spin. Anya followed her, but he stayed where he was, holding his head as it very nearly exploded in white light somewhere behind his eyes. He groaned, loud enough that it caught Anya's attention as she was trying to coax Mena back. She touched his arm, softly, and simultaneously his gut rolled, the food not settling properly. He felt the nausea return ten-fold and leaned over on shaking arms.

"Sam!" Anya shouted, looking up at Mena. "Please, help us! Do you know what the demon did? Can you help him?"

Mena backed away, shaking her head. "No, I don't… I can't help you, no more… Please…"

Sam barely heard it, trying to force down what he had just eaten, to no avail. He vomited, gut thrashing inside until it was almost painful. Mena trailed off in horror as he hurled, realizing the pile would give away her aid, before turning and fleeing in terror. The door banging shut echoed through Sam's head, drumming his headache into a migraine that made him throw up once more before collapsing in exhaustion.

Weary beyond belief, he lay on the ground, nose twitching at the smell coming from the pile of vomit nearby, but too tired to move away. And as he tried to keep his eyes open, he fell into the space between waking and unconsciousness, a white land of floating in nothingness.

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Back to Dean in the next chapter. I think. Hope you enjoyed!


	12. Chapter 12: Mahone's Wife

**Warning:** Back to swearing, mentions of abuse.

**Author's Note:** So, we're getting there, slowly. And the slowly is mainly because I seem to be really busy right now. Sorry no post last night, friends, ya know. Gotta love 'em. Anyways, you almost didn't get one tonight, either, thanks to work, but I found a spare five minutes!

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Chapter 12: Mahone's Wife

Dean stared up at the mansion before him, craning his neck as he stood in its shadow to stare at the roof above. Ash stood next to him, gun down but out, nerves tense and ready.

Ready for what, they weren't sure, but they hadn't expected it to be this easy so far. They had expected guards, and alarms, or wild dogs tamed by the demon… anything but a long garden overgrown with abandonment and a dark building looming somewhat ominously on the horizon. And then there was that silence as the city was left behind and the loneliness of the house took over.

Dean gave Ash a look, frowning at… well, he wasn't sure at what, but the kid had an identical look on his face.

"We've come this far," Ash muttered, shrugging and walking the last foot to stand before the window they had arrived at. Giving a glance back at Dean, Ash put his hands on the glass and pushed up. The window gave way easily before Ash's strength, and Dean shifted uneasily. This was far too easy.

Nevertheless, he followed Ash into the dark room beyond the window, shutting it behind him softly. "Pick a direction," he told the kid. "This was your idea after all."

Ash gave him a small glare, but led off, creeping down the hallway as quietly as he could. Which, to Dean's relief, was pretty damn quiet.

It didn't take long to search the bottom floor of the house, a fact that surprised Dean. Each room seemed to be twice the size it needed to be, creating a sense of emptiness and neglect. That pit in Dean's gut grew, anxiety heightened by the continuing darkness and lack of love. What sort of woman kept a house like this? They hadn't found much out about Holly Mahone, just that she had married Mahone while she was young and was rarely seen out and about. Most people seemed to think she was a snob.

Seeing this place, Dean wasn't ready to agree. In fact, he was beginning to get the feeling she did know about Mahone's dealing and enslaving. And either was just as heartless as her husband, or was forced to keep the secret and herself hidden. That was what the house almost screamed as they walked the empty ground floor.

Satisfied there was nothing there, Ash led the way back to where he had seen stairs, sneaking up them with enough skill to avoid creaking. At the top he turned right. Dean followed, looking about for something to point them in the right direction.

The hallway ended about twenty feet from the stairs, but it took them much longer to search the distance after looking in each room behind the numerous doors. It turned out that they needn't have worried.

Ash came to the last door and turned the handle, making a small noise as he came across resistance. He turned back to Dean.

"This one's locked," he said softly, his voice a bare whisper that sounded incredibly loud in the house.

Dean cocked his head, shining his torch on the lock. Something about it was bugging him. He looked about, knowing the second story couldn't have ended this soon. There had to be another ten or fifteen feet of length to go. And there was something about the lock.

He crept closer, kneeling down and shining his light in the keyhole. Then he gave a disgruntled sigh.

"Yeah, you're right," Dean told Ash, fishing about in his pockets. "But it's locked from the outside."

In a matter of minutes he had picked the lock and stood, putting the set carefully back in his pocket for easy access. He pulled his gun back out and nodded at Ash. The kid nodded back, understanding hardening his eyes. He took a step back and pulled his gun up, pointing it at whatever foe met them behind the door.

Dean stepped to the side, hand on the handle. He counted mentally to three before throwing the door open and stepping back, ready to fire.

Nothing was there but another set of stairs, winding up into an even darker, colder part of the house. The older hunter took only a moment to decide – they had come this far after all. He took the first step across the threshold.

The winding stairs were cold but thankfully short, opening out into another hallway, bare of anything but lights, dimly lit bulbs creating shadows that danced along the floor and hall as the light flickered with old age. At least, Dean hoped that was all they flickered with. He couldn't smell any ozone; if he had he would have been back down those stairs in seconds, having left his shotgun in the Impala. But that was all they needed, a ghost to handle on this crime spree.

Dean led the way this time, naturally taking the lead as he took halting steps down the hallway. A room at the end beckoned to him, the warm light of flames showing from beyond the partially open door.

The two hunters came to a silent stop either side of the door, knowing that was where Mahone's wife, Holly, would be.

"There's no need to hide out there."

The sudden call from inside the room made them both jump, fingers tightening on the trigger. The woman inside, her voice a little hoarse, chuckled loudly. Dean and Ash shared a look, before the elder shrugged. He walked into the room, gun up.

The woman was sitting in a large armchair facing an open fire roaring with warmth. Beside her was a small table laden with a crystal jug of amber liquid and a half-full glass of the alcohol.

She was still chuckling as Dean came round to face her, gun pointed at her. She gave it a raised eyebrow before looking up at him, all but ignoring Ash as he came to a halt behind her.

"You're both two big strapping boys," she told him, immediately talking down to him, though she couldn't have been much older than Dean himself. "Surely you don't need those guns to handle me."

Dean shared a look with Ash, and the woman cackled again. This time Dean heard some of the bitterness behind it, frowning as he turned his gaze back on her.

"You're Holly Mahone, right?" he asked, not really sure. She was small, almost fragile, limp blonde hair obviously dyed going by the dark brown regrowth showing at the roots. Her eyes were grey, tired, eternally sad. Dean knew she would have been beautiful in her day, though if life had treated her any differently, he was sure she would still have been in her day. Now, she seemed decades older than she could have been, all except that constant terror or anxiety gleaming behind the bitter bemusement in her eyes and vibrating in the tense way she held herself. She was ready for a fight, and she would be damned if she fell before it.

Dean felt his arms dropping as Mahone's wife nodded, letting his gun down. There was no way this woman agreed with her husband's dealings. She was a near-defeated prisoner in her own home. Near, because he had a feeling they had just given her some hope.

"That's me," she told him. "Mrs Isaac Mahone. Trophy, prize, and personal boxing bag." At that last she gave a small touch to her chest, as if feeling some wound, flinching. She looked away, reaching for her glass, and swallowing half of it before looking back at him. "What do you want?" she demanded as she replaced the glass on the mahogany table beside her.

Dean glanced quickly at Ash, who was frowning in something similar to confusion at Holly Mahone. Knowing he would be getting nothing from the kid, he looked back at the woman staring up at him.

"Your husband," Dean told her simply. She gave another of those short, bitter cackles.

"Of course. I should have known. It was only a matter of time before Isaac's dealings got to me."

"So you do know about what he does?" Ash demanded, speaking up for the first time. Holly Mahone didn't even glance back at him.

"I know all about Isaac. What sort of wife, what sort of person would I be if I didn't?" she answered to Dean, ignoring Ash completely. Then she frowned, studying him with a cocked head. "The question is, do _you_ know what he does? Or rather, what he's done."

Dean stared down at her for a moment. Then he nodded. "We know. Everything."

She surprised him by laughing again. "So you're hunters. I wondered how long it would take for some of you to catch up with him."

"How do you know about hunters?" Dean asked.

She shrugged. "I've met some before. When I was younger… So who does he have? Friends? Lovers? Siblings?"

Dean refused to answer. "So you know about the deal, about the demon…" He trailed off, but Ash took up where he had left.

"Why haven't you done anything about it?" the kid demanded harshly. Dean gave him a quick glare, but Mahone's wife flared with anger, and maybe guilt.

"And here I thought you had some idea about what you were dealing with!" she spat at Dean, like he had been the one to accuse her. "Have you met my bastard of a husband? Do you have any fucking idea what he's capable of?"

She leaned forward, as though about to impart some wisdom upon Dean. "Isaac is a ruthless son of a bitch willing to do anything to get what he wants. To him, the world isn't grey, nor is it black and white. It's purple, and blue, and any other colour bruises and force turns when people are struck with it. The man sold his soul, hunter! Or the closest thing to it. And now, because demons are creatures of depravity, he sells other human beings to keep his life. That is the man you're dealing with!"

She leaned back, shaking her head and taking her glass in hand again. But she didn't take a drink, but continued her lesson. "When I found out about Isaac and his deal… he was angry beyond human capacity. He very nearly killed me then and there. Instead he killed my son, our son. Made me watch as he drowned my baby boy over and over again, saying I wasn't a faithful wife, that I didn't deserve my child, or my freedom. Why do you think that door was locked? Because whenever he is not here, he locks me up here to drown in the guilt that I can't do anything about what he's doing. Believe me, hunter. If I could stop him, I would die to do so. But locked up here, there's nothing I can do."

She took a sip of her drink, but her rant had left Dean reeling. Ash looked pale in the firelight, finally having dropped his gun from its trained position on the back of Holly Mahone's chair.

"How could you marry someone like that?" Dean demanded without thinking, unable to grasp the concept.

"Because he wasn't always like that," Holly answered quietly, desperately. "He was kind, and warm, and he loved me. And then he opened that fucking club, made the fucking deal… and he became a monster."

Dean shook his head, trying to sort out these details in his mind. He needed to get back on track, had to get down to the reason they were here. "Do you know where he could be holding the people he takes?" he asked, voice a little pleading.

Holly shook her head. "That's the only thing I never found out. I have no clue… Besides, I'm not sure you'll want to find them."

Dean took a step back at the absolute conviction in her declaration. "Why do you say that?" he asked, unable to keep the sudden strain from his voice.

She replaced her glass without taking a drink. "Because if you're… friends are true hunters, they'll refuse to talk. About you, about themselves… Trust me, Isaac will know something's there, and when he knows there's something there, he won't stop until he knows it. He'll use whatever means necessary to get that information. And when he gets it, _when…_ he'll continue hurting them just for fun."

"What are you getting at?" Dean questioned, refusing to get it. He could see Ash quivering in the corner of his eye.

Holly took his gaze and held it, sympathy warming them and dimming some of that terror that seemed so natural in those grey orbs. "Your friends, when you find them, may not be your friends anymore. They may be broken shells of their former selves… How long has Mahone had them?" Dean knew it was a question she didn't want answered. "Because he'll use every second available to him to make sure their final moments before the demon sells them are utter hell, filled with misery like which they've never seen or felt before."

Dean felt something inside snap, and before he knew it, he had grabbed Holly by her shirt, shoving his gun in and under her jaw, finger tense on the trigger. "You're lying!" he shouted, screamed, desperate to make her take the words back. Sam would be fine, he would be.

Suddenly Ash was there, pulling him back, and he let the kid do so, not willing to believe he had just very nearly shot the woman. He stood up straight, exhausted, but knowing he couldn't sleep just yet. He had to find Sam, before…

"I'm sorry," he breathed at Holly. She shrugged in frightened understanding.

"It's okay. You're tired, and worried, and -."

A sudden bang downstairs made all three jump and Holly's face turned white as she sprung to her feet. Shouts followed, and Dean cursed under his breath. Mahone had found out they were in his house. He turned to Holly.

"Is there another way down?" he asked desperately, refusing to be caught. But she shook her head.

"Only the stairs," she whispered, looking at the door in terror. She seemed paralysed by it, and by the looks of Ash, he was more than anxious as well.

Springing into action, Dean raced to the door, shutting it but giving a groan of frustration as he found no lock. Looking about, his gaze settled on a heavy looking empty bookcase close enough to the door to be moved in time. He could hear the men below running up the stairs to the second story.

"Ash, help me with this!" he cried, grabbing one end of the bookcase but finding it too much for himself. His shout pulled Ash from his reverie, and the kid took a hold on the other end. Between the two hunters, the bookcase was in front of the door in no time.

Taking a deep breath, Dean ran to one of the windows, rattling it but finding it locked. He gave the glass a punch, but that only ended with a bruised fist. He gave a subconscious snarl and pulled his gun out.

"The glass is bulletproof," Holly told him, shaking her head as she came over to the window. Dean glanced at her, grinning wildly.

"Good thing I'm not aiming for the glass then," he told her, taking aim and covering his face.

The shot echoed in the room but blew the complicated lock away, forcing the window wide open. The sudden chill invaded the room and Holly shivered.

Dean turned to her, suddenly incredibly glad the night was just cold and not wet. Ash ran to the window, looking out and then up, trying to judge the best way to get down.

"Holly," Dean began, getting her attention back to him. "You can do this."

She shook her head, frightened like a child on a stormy night. "No, I can't. Go, hunter, go!" And she gave him a shove towards the window.

He shook his head, barely seeing Ash climbing out the window. They both flinched as a thud rocked the door, before he turned back to Holly.

"I'm not leaving you here for… him!" Dean cried. "Mahone'll kill you."

Holly shook her head again, stubbornness setting her face. "No, I can't! Please, just go! Go!"

Her scream mixed in with a second bang that shook the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bookcase move slightly.

"Holly, please…" he begged, but she shook her head, biting her lip.

"No, I can't… go, please. Go!" And she gave him a second shove that almost sent him out the window.

Dean felt his gut tear as he made the decision, felt guilt rip through him as he left another woman for dead that night. But he backed to the window until he felt the ledge behind him.

"Holly," he said softly, grabbing her attention as a third thud echoed across their ears. "Are you sure you have no idea where Mahone might take my brother?" He didn't want to leave her without making her feel like she had helped.

But she shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. "No, I have no clue. I wish I did! Now please, go!"

He was half out the window before he realized it. Dean paused, half in, half out, before grabbing Holly by the arm. "Is there anyone who might know? A friend, family? His parents?"

She looked up at him, confusion or realization making her eyes bright. "Isaac killed his parents when they found out he had become a monster," she told him, putting it together as Dean did. "That was a couple of years -." A fourth bang made the bookcase rock and Holly jump, looking around at the blocked door before turning back to Dean with pleading. "For God's sake, go!"

He nearly tumbled out the window as a fifth bang made them both shake violently. Ash's hand was the only thing that stopped him from falling three stories to his death on the lawn below. The younger hunter grunted as he dragged Dean up to the roof.

They didn't waste any time, springing to their feet and staggering carefully across the roof. Dean was breathing hard, a mixture of guilt, exertion and anger, as they made their way to the tall trees that would aid their escape.

When Holly screamed, a single, chilling note that filled the night as the hunters raced across the lawn back to the car, Dean could only flinch, knowing he would make Mahone pay hell for all that he had done.

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What did you think?


	13. Chapter 13: Revelations

**Warning:** Blah blah blah. You know what I mean.

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Chapter 13: Revelations

Dean didn't stop running until they reached the Impala, knowing every bit of distance was necessary. Ash was panting, face red with anger.

"How could we just leave her there!" he accused, shouting and obviously not caring about giving away their position. Dean spun to face the younger man.

"You think I wanted to?" he hissed back. "She practically shoved me out that window! Jesus, Ash…"

He trailed off, turning before he hit the kid. Growling and muttering to himself, he grabbed his cell phone and dialled 911.

"Mahone's going to kill her!" Ash pointed out, voice quivering with the mixture of guilt and anger that Dean himself was feeling. The older hunter ignored the younger, walking a small distance away.

The phone clicked and he didn't even wait for the greeting. "There's a disturbance at 113 Alridge Drive… Yeah, Isaac Mahone's house. I can hear screaming. Hurry!"

He snapped the phone shut, rubbing his face as he pocketed it. Then he turned back to Ash.

"They won't kill her," he told Ash logically, keeping his temper reined. "Mahone hadn't so far, there's no way he will now." He hoped he was right, or he would have another woman's life on his hands.

Shoving that thought away, he got into the car, turning on the engine and barely waiting for Ash to close the passenger door before speeding away.

They drove in silence for a moment, before Dean spoke up. "I know where to go next. Holly told me."

Ash gave him a confused look. "I thought she said she didn't know where Mahone was keeping them."

"She didn't. Does now. Mahone's parent's place. I just know it."

Ash looked at him like he was mad. "Okay… And how did you reach this conclusion?"

"Because a few years ago Mahone murdered his parents."

"But they still have a house…" Ash trailed off as realization dawned. "Oh."

Dean smirked triumphantly. "Exactly."

* * *

The only problem with the white nothingness he was floating in, Sam decided as he woke slowly, was coming back. That he had to come back, he knew, because he had things he had to do. It was so hard though, leaving that pain-free world of oblivion and coming back to all the aches and pains.

He gave a small groan and he noticed something stop. He didn't know what, but suddenly something was missing. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times to get rid of his blurry vision.

"Sam?"

It was Anya's voice he realized after a moment, and he rolled over towards it, grimacing as his shoulder began throbbing dully. But nothing else seemed to hurt for which he was grateful. In fact, besides his shoulder, he felt surprisingly good.

And that wasn't the only surprising thing he found. Anya wasn't the only other person in the cell.

"Mena?" he rasped, struggling to sit up. Anya put a hand on his shoulder as he did, but he managed by himself. The other woman looked suddenly meek.

"Mena brought us some more food," Anya said quietly. "And she agreed to keep me company."

Sam nodded, running it through in his head. "How long was I out?" he asked, stretching his uninjured shoulder. The sleep seemed to have worked wonders.

"A little over an hour, again," Anya told him, frowning at something. "And I don't think it did you any good."

Sam gave her a look, confused. "Why not? I feel fine. Better than I did, at any rate."

Anya and Mena shared a look. "Really? Cause you look like crap."

Sam shrugged, immediately wishing he hadn't. "Well I feel fine. Don't worry so much."

He really did feel fine. A little tired, and his limbs were a bit heavy, but he felt good. He shook his head, staring at Mena.

"Sorry about before," he told her, realizing she hadn't said anything since he had woken. "I didn't mean to…" Sam trailed off, not really knowing what he had done. That bit of his memory seemed a little hazy. But Mena seemed to take it.

"It's fine," she murmured. "Do you want something to eat?" she asked.

Sam's stomach rolled at the idea, and he grimaced. "No thanks. After the last lot -."

He cut off as she flinched and he realized that the mess he had made still hadn't been cleaned up. He gave it a distasteful glance before looking back at the woman.

"There's no way he'll know it was from eating," he told Mena gentle. "And he won't know you had anything to do with it. The amount of crap he's pulled with me… It should come as no surprise that I was feeling a bit sick."

Mena nodded, relief lighting her eyes. But she got to her feet, ready to leave. Anya stood with her, but Sam decided he would leave it to them. Even watching them rise was making his head spin.

"Where are you going?" Anya asked quietly, trying not to appear insistent. Mena looked away, eyes flitting for a moment before settling on Anya.

"I have to go… If Isaac finds me here…"

She trailed off, eyes flitting again, looking for danger. She put a hand on the door, but never got a chance to push it.

The door swung open and Mena stumbled, turning and gasping with horror as she fell into Mahone. The man didn't move, a vile sneer on his face, as the woman fell before him, landing on her back and elbows.

"Isaac!" she breathed, voice shrill with the tears of terror filling her eyes. Sam struggled to his feet beside Anya, who had gone still with fear for Mena.

"You little bitch!" Mahone hissed. "I should have known I'd find you here! Helping them escape, weren't you?"

Mena shook her head fast, eyes never leaving Mahone, having found the ultimate danger. "No, I swear -." She cut off into a cry as the man leaned down, grabbing her filthy shirt and pulling her to her feet. "Isaac…"

He slapped her once, hard, a sharp sound that rang in Sam's ears. And then Mahone shoved Mena backwards, with as much strength as he could muster, intent on throwing her into the wall.

Sam moved before he knew what he was doing, catching Mena before she hit the wall, and somehow managing to keep his feet. The effort restarted the thumping in his heart, a somewhat painful throb, but he ignored it, easing Mena into Anya's arms as the she offered, a glare directed at their captor. Sam stood back up straight and eyed Mahone, who had gone still with apprehension.

"I can't believe you're even awake, boy," Mahone snapped.

"Neither can I," the demon suddenly spoke up, and Sam noticed it for the first time, standing in the doorway. "You must be stronger than I thought."

Sam didn't get a chance to answer, as Mahone's phone rang, breaking through the tension. The man gave a growl as he answered, snapping his phone open.

"What!" he spat. There was a pause, before Sam began realizing that this phone call wasn't going to end pleasantly. Mahone's face tightened, going pale with anger. His knuckles tightened, nearly crushing the phone. When the conversation ended, the hand holding the phone dropped slowly, muscles quivering with sudden rage.

Sam swallowed as that furious gaze fell on him, Mahone turning gradually as if trying to contain himself.

"That was Landly," Mahone told everyone, never taking his icy eyes from Sam. His voice was a little hoarse, Adam's apple wobbling. "Their friends turned up at my house. Got to my wife… and the little bitch helped them escape." He rubbed his eyes with a trembling hand. "Then the cops showed up… Had to leave quickly, without tidying up. The cops are going to know…"

He trailed off, his anger apparently becoming too much as he dropped his hand and turned blazing eyes on Sam. "It's all your fucking fault," he snarled in a whisper. Then, in a scream, "It's all your fault!"

He lunged, mind blown away by wrath and loathing, fingers reaching for Sam's neck. The hunter scrambled backwards, keeping his feet and putting his hands up to defend, ignoring the tearing feeling in his wounded shoulder. He knocked Mahone's hands aside before laying into the man with a hard roundhouse punch.

The hit did little to faze the man, snapping his head around before he snapped it back, eyes ablaze with a frenzied need to inflict some sort of revenge.

Of course, that did little to faze the hunter within as it took over, pushing pain aside as he defended the rush at him, and letting adrenaline take hold.

He blocked Mahone's wild punches, stepping to the side and lashing out, pushing the man so he ran head first into the wall. With a solid thud accompanying him, Mahone fell to the floor.

He didn't stay there, getting hurriedly to his feet and rushing for Sam again. The hunter took the tackle this time, knowing the space behind him was free. He landed expertly on the hard ground, grunting only slightly, before rolling back, giving Mahone his turn at slamming into the ground.

He followed, landing on the man and pinning him down. Without a thought he punched, hard into Mahone's face and splitting his lip. And again, a little higher, bringing blood gushing from his nose. And again, and again, refusing to stop, letting anger and hate take over. Mahone seemed powerless beneath him.

He didn't hear the demon give a low growl, tapping into its powers again, using its telekinesis to shove the two men apart. Sam flew through the air thudded into the wall, falling to the ground and staying there, groaning as he felt his injuries return to full strength. The demon shook its head, but Sam felt only a rush of triumph as he heard Mahone whimpering somewhere nearby.

Then he felt feet near him, and the next thing he knew, the demon was holding him once more, staring at him, amusement and annoyance doing a merry dance in the eyes of the man it possessed.

"Who are you?" the demon demanded, shaking its head. The movement shook loose the demon's talisman, and Sam got a good look at it. He only just bit back a gasp of realization. "Because you are just full of surprises. I didn't think you'd even be conscious after the way I screwed with…"

It trailed off, before shaking its head again and giving a crooked grin. It turned to Mahone as the man got gingerly to his feet.

"This has gone on too long, Mahone," it told the club owner. Mahone tore his glare from Sam to look at the demon with a little fear. "I want them tomorrow night. If you still haven't got this _Dean_ by then…then I will have to do it myself. And I won't be happy, Mahone."

"He attacked me!" Mahone cried. "When according to you, he should be inches from death!"

Sam winced, looking up from the talisman, as the demon's eyes snapped from slight amusement to fury in a second, even while knowing that the anger wasn't directed at him.

"Don't you dare question me, Mahone!" it spat. "I can still take your life, and go on my merry way."

Mahone snapped back whatever retort he had been about to spit forth, leaning back and going white. He nodded, and the demon turned back to Sam, who grinned in what he hoped was an infuriating way.

"And you," the demon said quietly, leaning in. "I can't wait to find out more about you…"

It trailed off as something seemed to occur to it. Some realization dawned in its eyes, and Sam knew something was wrong. Then it leaned forward, and Sam got the feeling it was sniffing him, just not with its nose. He almost felt the brush against his mind as it delved away at whatever sudden tingle it had received. And then…

"I don't believe it!" it whispered, excitement filling a voice that had once seemed so devoid of human emotion in comparison. "Mahone, you caught me a Winchester!"

Sam's jaw dropped, and he felt his gut follow. His hands ripped the demon's grip from his shirt and he stumbled back, knowing he was in deep shit now. The pure glee in its very being was only the first sign of it, though the most troubling.

The demon took a step forward to match Sam's step back. "Sam Winchester… And here I was thinking you were just some dumb idiot who fell into what he really had no clue about. I had no idea."

Sam remained silent, having no clue what to say. He wasn't about to deny his identity, but… He was just speechless.

"You know him?" Mahone asked, incredulous. Sam realized he was speaking through a broken nose.

The demon shrugged, never taking his eyes from the hunter. "I know of him. And trust me, that's enough."

"You know jack shit about me!" Sam spat, freeing his tongue once more. "And you know what… I know all about you. Or enough… enough to know how to destroy you!"

The demon's eyes changed from excited to coldly calculating in a matter of seconds. Then it turned to Mahone. And then it lashed out.

Sam went flying, crashing into the cell wall with enough force to slam every drop of air from his lungs. He cried out as he landed and darkness rolled in.

* * *

Wow, Sam's not having the best time is he. Sorry, I'm pretty sure I pull back a bit from hurting Sam from now on. More tomorrow!


	14. Chapter 14: Nearly There

**Warning:** Violence.

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Chapter 14: Nearly there

When Sam woke, he knew immediately that he wasn't alone. Lying as he was, on a cold hard floor, in an incredibly cold cell, he knew that much for sure, just as he knew that it wasn't Anya sharing a cell with him.

He rolled over and got to his feet quickly, hands up and ready to defend whatever against whatever it was that was in the cell with him.

The demon smirked as it rose from its squat near the door. "You must be one in a million, Sam," it told him. "I don't think there's many who would be strong enough to stand, let alone fight, not after what I did to you. But then, that's what they say about you Winchesters. Stubborn enough to crawl out of Hell."

Sam dropped his hands, knowing they were pointless against the hell spawn. "I feel fine," the hunter informed it. "Wanna see?"

The demon's grin deepened until it was nearly an amused sneer. "You see, Sam, that's the thing. I bet you only feel a little tired, right?"

Sam took a moment to nod, not sure what the demon was getting at, and realizing he didn't want to know when it chuckled.

"Don't you feel the bullet in your shoulder? You're infected shoulder, too, by the way." Sam glanced down quickly, peeling back the shirt to find the demon was telling the truth as heat and stink met his nose, coming from the inflamed body part. He glanced back at the demon.

"What did you do to me?" he demanded.

The demon ignored him. "And then of course, there's the concussion you don't feel, the broken ribs… hell, I nearly tore your heart out and you're not even noticing the flutters as it's failing to settle back in."

Sam felt his face drain of colour, but refused to be cowed. "Screw you!" he spat. "You know what, it doesn't even matter. Whatever you did to me will go away the instant I rip that necklace from your neck."

It was the demon's turn to go white, a hand going to its chest where the pendent lay, and all Sam's doubts fled. He knew now, without no uncertainty, and he grinned at the pleasure.

"You know, I was wondering how you got the hellhounds to do your dirty work. I mean, they're not mercenaries, they take whoever made a deal at the appointed time. They don't back off just because you want them to."

The demon was in his face in a second, grabbing onto his shirt and shoving him back into the wall. Sam winced, but felt a shake of horror when he didn't feel any pain. What was the demon doing to him?

He didn't let his fear take hold though. Keeping that triumphant snarl on his face, Sam continued. "So, how did you bind them? Obviously it has something to do with that necklace. And I bet they're just like daevas… demonic pitbulls, that's how Dean described those particular nasties. And like a bound reaper, too, I bet. As soon as you lose that necklace, they'll be after you like chow."

The demon shoved him into the wall again, and he cut off, wincing. But he glared back up at the demon and shook his head. "Even by demon standards, you're despicable," Sam spat. "And those hellhounds are going to tear you apart like the gutless, selfish bastard you are. Traitorous to your own kind," he ended in a knowing whisper.

The demon leaned back, angry. Sam stared into its eyes, refusing to look away. It shook its head.

"I'd be careful what you say there, Sammy," it whispered after a moment. "Cause you're awful close to calling the kettle black."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" He chuckled. "I have given my entire life to hunting down bitches like you, to help my kind. I've faced countless evil bastards. I've faced my fears. And won."

This time the demon chuckled. "You misunderstand me. Besides, you haven't faced all of them… your big buddy, your demon pal…" Sam's grin slipped slightly. "It told, you didn't it… that it had plans for you."

Sam shoved the demon away and it laughed. "Oh come on, even if it hadn't, you should have made the connection. You should have known, after it told you that Mummy and Jessica got in its way to you. And admitting that is your biggest fear, isn't it Sam?"

The hunter refused to answer, a sick light entering his eyes. The demon laughed again, clearly enjoying the torment.

"You see, you may know how to destroy me, Sam, but I know everything about you, _everything_. From the shit up here." It poked Sam's head, and the hunter refused to even flinch. "To what the demon plans for you in here…" It trailed off, poking over Sam's heart and causing him to shudder as an icy tendril seemed to creep through him. Then it grinned. "But I guess that last secret died with your father."

Sam's jaw dropped. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The demon's grin widened. "Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. But there are so many of us out there who would love to own you, Sam. And not all of them want revenge. See you tomorrow night."

It turned and walked away, leaving Sam gaping as the door swung open. Too late he broke out of his shock, racing forward, trying to beat the door as it inched closed. He ran into it as the echoing thud all but shook the cell. Slamming his fists into the door, Sam screamed with frustration, his anger at everything that had happened coming out in one fist-bruising hit.

"Tell me!" he cried out, hoping someone outside would hear him. Hoping the demon would hear him. "Tell me what it wants!"

But all he got for an answer was silence, hopelessness and mindless shivers as he slid down the door. He stared numbly through his freezing cell, feeling suddenly more tired than he could ever remember feeling before.

* * *

The Impala slid to a halt outside the well-kept iron gate at the head of the property supposedly belonging to Mahone's parents. In the dark distance Dean could see the house, a black shadow on the horizon, large and looming in the night sky. He stared hard at it as he shut the engine off and let the Impala rest in the stand of trees he hoped would be enough to hide it from prying eyes.

The older hunter turned to the younger, and Ash met his stare easily. He could see weariness and stubbornness, and fierce determination lighting the younger hunter's eyes and knew those orbs mirrored his own. But hopefully with the rising sun, an event still a few hours away, he would have Sam back, Mahone would be dead, and this hunt would be over. That, and he would be calling Joshua to tell him that they were never doing another job for him; it only ever seemed to end in disaster.

"Ready?" Dean asked, already knowing the answer. Ash nodded, and they exited the car, ignoring the squeak of the doors as they locked them. Dean opened the boot and both hunters chose their arsenal. Guns, knives… guns. They didn't plan on this being only a rescue mission. Both Dean and Ash had that urge to watch the life dim from Mahone's eyes.

They made their way to the gate, looking through the darkness to the house a couple of hundred metres up the drive. Dean shrugged, giving Ash a look, before getting a boost up to the top of the thick wall. He straddled it, hoisting Ash up with him. Together they jumped to the other side.

Once there, Ash let loose a sigh of relief. "So far -."

Dean whacked him in the shoulder before he could continue. "Don't ever say that," he warned in a far too serious voice. "You'll jinx us."

After a moment he grinned, seeing that Ash had no clue that he was joking. "It's okay. Come on. Optimism is good, kid."

Ash just rolled his eyes at Dean's back as the older man led off before catching up. Dean chuckled but the rest of the walk was spent in silence.

It didn't take as long as they had thought it would to reach the house, and there they stopped behind a bush, looking about. From here it all seemed normal. Quiet, but then again it was two in the morning. But then Dean took a closer look and he realized there were some telltale signs of abandonment that no one would have noticed because no one ever got close enough unless they were far too close for their own safety.

A window on the second story was broken, its jagged edges glinting in some moonlight that broke through the cloud cover. The paint was cracked and peeling, visibly even in the dark. And he swore he could see a tree growing through one window on the first floor.

But there was no movement, and after a moment Dean came out from hiding, creeping the final distance to the house.

It was a tree growing through the floor, he found out as he tumbled through, trying not to land on the glass shards that were all that remained of the window. He landed on bare ground, dirt poking through the shattered remnants of what would have been a nice polished wood floor. Back when Mahone's parents had actually been alive.

The whole room was forsaken, furniture overturned and rotting, the elements too much for it. Actually, Dean was surprised by the rate of decay of the room, walls half knocked out, lights blown, the smell of mould nearly overpowering. It was a far cry even from the isolated abandonment of the outside of the house. It was like something had sucked the very life from the whole interior of the house.

Ash tumbled through after him, wincing as his feet cracked some of the glass beneath the window. The kid looked around, raising an eyebrow.

"Jesus. What a mess."

Dean snorted. "Understatement of the century I think, Ash. Come on." And he led the way to the kitchen.

Or he would have. They were maybe half way across the room when Dean found his feet tapping one wood. Hollow wood. Hollow wood that seemed to creak in not such a good way.

He had time to share a look with Ash, pausing stupidly, before the floor gave way.

Dean must have lost consciousness somewhere along the way, because when he woke he was groaning and lying in mud. Or at least, he hoped it was only mud. Judging by the smell, he didn't want to know.

Putting a hand to his head, he sat up, looking about and realizing he had lost his torch somewhere. Groaning from that, he searched his pockets for his lighter, flipping it open and looking about.

"Hey, Ash, how you doing?" he called out, unable to see the kid past the small ring of light the flame gave.

"Been better. I wonder what this shit is… actually, I don't want to know."

A light flicked, and Dean realized Ash had been able to keep a hold of his torch. He blinked and winced in the sudden light as it passed his face, but shut the lighter, not wanting to waste the gas in it.

"Seen my torch?" he asked the kid. A second later he gave a yelp as something hit his lap. He didn't need Ash's chuckles to realize it was his torch.

"Yeah, real funny." He got to his feet, scowling. "I'm kicking Sam's ass for this," he muttered under his breath, knowing Ash wouldn't hear him, and glad too, because there was no way he meant it.

Flinging… mud from his hands, he took a firmer grip on his torch, looking about. Ash found something first.

"Hey, stairs!"

Dean went over to where Ash was standing. And looked up, groaning for a third time.

"I'm so glad to see that little fall was a complete waste of time," he spat, getting frustrated.

Ash shrugged, ever the optimist. "At least we know we can get out of here," he pointed out. Dean shone the torch in his face and the kid turned, rolling his eyes. Dean felt like pointing out the dangers of RSI.

Dean looked up, pointing the torch in the same direction. The beam of light hit a wooden door, like that of a cellar. He looked about, and judged the door to be in some part of the house. He could hear dripping water, thus the mud, and knew it had rained two nights ago. There had to be a hole somewhere in the house then.

Not that knowing any of that was exactly helpful to finding Sam and Anya. He muttered incoherently under his breath, swinging the torch around the rest of the room.

And then came Ash's chirpy voice once more, excited and restless.

"I found more stairs!" he called softly. Dean trudged over to stare with him. Stare down the long winding staircase. The ones that went down.

Feeling the anxiety slightly lessen in his heart, Dean grinned at Ash. "So far so good."

* * *

So, I know my postings haven't actually been very consistent. And it's probably going to stay that way. However, I will tell you know, that there will be no post tomorrow, seeing as I will be at my dad's house. And having not seen him in… well, longer than I care to mention, I don't think I should be spending time on the net. Sorry! But I hope you still enjoyed this chapter!


	15. Chapter 15: Rescue

**Warning:** The usual. Don't know why I bother anymore.

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Chapter 15: Rescue

Dean and Ash crept down the stairs, guns out, fully aware they could come across anyone at anytime.

The winding staircase wasn't long, just dark and steep, and Dean felt tense the entire time. His grin from the muddy basement was gone, replaced by the anxious knowledge that they were getting close. For a while he had had doubts that Mahone would use his parent's place as a secret base, but no parents would have had a secret staircase leading into God knew where. Not murdered ones anyway. Which begged the question,

"Has this always been here or did the demon create all this?" Ash asked after a moment, as they paused on the steps to make sure no one was coming. Dean shrugged.

"Who knows?" Dean whispered back after making sure no one was around. "The entrance to these stairs look like they were boarded up or something, so they could have been here for ages. But if it has, it's stayed steady, so I'm guessing the demon played some part."

Ash nodded thoughtfully. "Would explain the decomposition of the house."

Dean snapped his head around. "What?" he demanded in a voice probably a bit too sharp. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The kid looked suddenly uncomfortable. "It's something Anya used to theorise about. You know, with feng shui and that, and how each room has an energy… don't worry."

Dean shook his head slowly before looking back around the corner. "Kid, you need to spend some time with someone who isn't your sister. I mean, she's cool, but she's still a girl. You ever heard of things called bars. B-A-R-S. B-ah-rs. Say it with me now -." He cut off as the kid elbowed him, but let a quick grin loose before getting down to business.

He was staring down a short long corridor. Going by the twisting of the stairs, it ran under the house, for the same length. He couldn't see anyone, but there were plenty of side corridors. Around which anyone could be hiding.

He gave a mental shrug and sighed. "Here goes," he muttered. Ash nodded behind him, and he stepped off the stairs into the corridor.

He studied each cell as he passed, noticing the rust and dirt that showed old age. Each door had a sliding bar, which slipped into place beside it. Effective, but simple. He had a feeling the whole place was a lot older than just Mahone's demonic dealings.

Luckily each cell also had small doors about head height that he could use to peek into each room. Still, after doing that seven or eight times, he began to get frustrated. He wasn't the only one.

"This is going to take too long!" Ash whispered sharply. "We should split up, take half the time to search them all."

Dean shook his head as he shut the viewing hole on the ninth cell door. "No way, it's too dangerous. We're in their territory, going by their rules. More chance of getting out of here alive if we stick together."

Ash grumbled something but didn't argue, seeing sense in Dean's logic. The older hunter nodded, moving to the next one, and praying for a bit of luck.

Someone must have heard and decided to answer because the next moment he heard a noise. A banging of some kind. And a muffled shout. It sounded vaguely like…

"Do you hear that?" Dean asked, cocking his head to hear better. Ash frowned in concentration, before his face lit up with excitement and triumphant.

"Anya!" the kid breathed, racing down the corridor, pausing every now and then. Dean followed, letting the kid have the honours for this one. It didn't take long.

Ash paused before a door near the end of the corridor, listening and grinning wildly. Here the banging was louder, and Dean came up to stand beside Ash, nodding.

"This one," he told the younger hunter. As fast as he could, Ash slid the bar across… and fell backwards as his twin sister lunged at him.

"Ash!" she cried, hugging the kid as hard as she could. Dean smirked to see them both squirming on the floor. But after a moment, when it didn't stop, he coughed, bringing them both out of their reunion. Though it did take a while.

Ash and Anya stood, beaming with relief. Then the girl jumped and went back into the cell.

"It's okay, Mena, it's my brother," she coaxed. Dean frowned, sharing a look with Ash. The kid shrugged.

"It's not just Anya and Sam we're going to be rescuing," the younger man told him as Anya led another woman out of the cell.

Dean gaped as he saw the second girl, timid and withdrawn, looking beaten in more ways than just physical. He looked at Anya, who stared pointedly, telling him silently that she would explain later. Dean shrugged.

"Are you okay?" he asked, directing his question at both woman. Anya nodded, while the woman, Mena he guessed, looked down.

"Better seeing your face, Dean," she told him.

"Woman always are," he joked back, ignoring Ash's raised eyebrow. "Where's Sam?"

His stomach sank as she looked away, biting her lip and seemingly refusing to answer. He looked between her and a bewildered Ash, and back again.

"Anya, where's Sam?"

She looked up, guilt in her eyes. "I don't know. Once the demon found out about him, found out who he was, it took him away. To a different cell, somewhere… I don't know where."

She glanced at Mena, and sighed. "Plus, he's not the only one we have to get," she told him. Dean and Ash shared another look.

"How many more?" Dean asked, not wanting an answer. This rescue mission was turning into a crusade.

"Three," Anya told him. "A couple they brought in last night, and Mena says the guy from the bucks night is here somewhere as well, still."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "It's been a couple of weeks, and Mahone didn't get rid of him?"

Anya shook her head. "Apparently not. But they should be in this corridor somewhere."

"What couple?" Ash spoke up. "We didn't hear anything."

Anya looked away, grimacing. "The couple from the motel Sam sent them to," she said quietly.

"Sam…" Dean trailed off, shocked, and Anya's head shot up, angry in defense.

"You don't get it Dean!" she spat at him. "He had to give them something. They tortured him, Dean, tortured!" She went on, regardless of Dean's sudden paleness. "The only other way he was getting out of that was in a body bag."

Feeling suddenly nauseas, Dean shook his head, putting his hands up. "Okay, okay, Anya. I get it," he added in a quiet voice. He looked at the girl, or woman, that Anya was still holding onto. He spoke softly. "Mena, do you know where Sam might be?"

She looked up, terror in her eyes. She looked at Anya after a moment, who nodded. Then she looked back at Dean. "I do," she whispered. "There's another level of cells, below this one. He should be down there."

When relief broke out on his face, she smiled, slightly, losing some of that fear. She still didn't let go of Anya though, but Dean knew baby steps were the key.

"Okay," he told the assembled group. "We find these other three people, go down and get Sam, and then… we'll go from there."

He waited for Ash and Anya to nod before looking back at Mena. He felt so sorry for the woman quivering in Anya's arms, and wondered how long she had been Mahone's prisoner for.

"Mena, can you show us the way?"

* * *

Sam was freezing. He sat in a corner, having moved from the door, knees up against his chest, arms wrapped around himself. It didn't really do much good, not with bare arms and a sticky shirt.

Sam was exhausted. He refused to go to sleep, unsure if he would wake up, but he was so tired. He didn't think he had ever been so bone-weary before in his life. He hadn't slept in ages, besides being unconscious, which didn't really count. And he was starving.

Or he knew he should be. But he wasn't. He wasn't hungry, he wasn't thirsty, he wasn't in any pain. And he knew that was all wrong. His head should have been pounding, his shoulder should have felt like it was on fire, he shouldn't have been able to breath properly because he was certain his ribs were at least fractured. But all he felt was tired. Weary, fatigued, there was no word to describe how fucking exhausted he was.

And that was when he began hearing the voices.

He couldn't tell what they said at first, but he knew them. Knew most of them. Or thought he did. It wasn't like it mattered who they were, considering there was no doubt that he was imagining them. The idea of rescue had long since disappeared from his mind that now only concentrated on staying awake and not sleeping.

The voices paused outside his door, and he couldn't help but listen as hard as he could. He found it easier than forcing his eyelids to stay open.

A cool breeze hit him and he winced, looking up. Seven faces peered at him. Some middle-aged couple holding each other tight. A guy in his mid-twenties with haunted eyes that had seen far too much. He grumbled inside his own head, because now he wasn't only just imagining people he knew, he was imagining complete randoms.

He ignored them, looking up instead at the people he knew. One seemed to have disappeared, but Mena was there, still frightened, but also taken aback. And there was Anya, hand over her mouth, and Ash, who definitely had to be some kind of mirage because he was with Dean, and Dean wasn't…

"Sammy?" a soft voice said in his ear. Sam turned his head and grinned half-heartedly.

"Speak of the devil," he whispered, unable to speak louder. "You know, for an hallucination, you kinda smell funky."

Dean's face frowned where it seemed to float in his vision. "Okay," he said slowly, looking up at Anya. "What did they do to him?" he asked her.

Sam frowned and reached out. There had been something in that voice, something… He grabbed onto Dean's leather jacket and felt his hand thicken around it. Shocked, he looked up from his hand to Dean's cautious face.

"You are real!" he accused, and Dean's face fell into surprise as he weakly shoved his older brother away. "You dumbass, you actually got caught by Mahone!"

Dean's jaw dropped and he made several sounds of indignation. "Hey, give me some credit, little brother!" he said, grabbing onto Sam's shoulders. "Did it never occur to you that you might need some rescuing?"

Sam paused for a moment, trying to work everything through in his head. Then, "Oh… actually it did once or twice."

He looked up at the doorway again. "So they're all real too?" he asked. He felt Dean flinch and wondered why. He looked back to see Dean rifling through his shirt, pressing a hands to Sam's shoulder.

"Hey, don't touch me!" Sam cried with real fear, leaning back but unable to get away as Dean just ignored him.

"What the fuck did he do to you, Sammy?" the older man asked in a thick voice.

The younger man squinted in thought, trying to remember. Everything seemed a little hazy. He looked back at Dean, pressing his fingers into his eyes.

"A hot knife comes to mind, but… I dunno. Head's all weird, Dean." He looked up again. "Hey, can we get out of here now. I really need some sleep."

Dean nodded, carefully scrutinising every inch of his brother for other injuries. "Yeah, I think we should get out of here right away." Which meant goodbye to murdering Mahone nice and slow, but his little brother was seriously injured. It was probably better this way anyway. "Can you stand?"

Sam gave him a face that wasn't all too convinced. "Maybe if you help," he suggested. Dean nodded, taking position on the side of the uninjured shoulder and lifting. Sam grunted with the sudden levitation, swaying slightly.

"I think I need a hospital, Dean," he muttered, rubbing his eyes again. Dean snorted as he escorted Sam from the cell.

"No shit, Sammy," he said softly. "No hospital is no option when half your head is caked with your own blood."

To his shock Sam actually chuckled. "Yeah, having your head slammed into a wall by a super-strong demon tends to do that… fucking bastard." Sam suddenly became bitter. "It did something to me, Dean…"

Sam suddenly trailed off, not leaning on Dean anymore, but standing up straight, hatred curling his lip.

"Mahone," he spat around the curl.

Hearing gasps he looked up from Sam's bruised face. His eyes met Isaac Mahone's and the man smirked in triumphant before speaking up.

"Well I'll be damned."

* * *

Here comes big fight time! Well, it'll be here tomorrow, if I manage to post. I swear I'll try!


	16. Chapter 16: Slaver's Last Gasp

**Warning:** I could say anything here, really, and you'd still know there was swearing. Not so much, but enough.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to all those who are reviewing, especially Lighthouse Watcher… now if some of that good feeling you give me could transfer into real life so cars didn't keep on breaking down… sorry, I know bitching is useless, but it just makes you feel better.

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Chapter 16: Slaver's Last Gasp

Dean pulled his gun up immediately, hands firming around the familiar hold on the shotgun. Beside him Ash and Anya did the same, looking determined. But that was only three guns. And against the nine or ten pointing at them, it was never going to be enough. Especially with another four people to protect.

Mahone chuckled from behind his men. Dean recognised a few, though he couldn't put names to faces. Including one he recognised as the man who had shot Dani. He felt his own snarl form, mirroring Sam's bloodshot-eyed stare.

"You know, I've been searching for you in every inch of this damned city," Mahone told them. His eyes never left Dean's though, showing him that the comment was just for the older hunter. "And all I had to do was wait for you to show up here. Took your time. I almost killed your baby brother looking for you."

Sam flinched beside him, but remained glaring. Dean growled under his breath. "I'm going to kill you for every finger you laid on my brother," he spat harshly, voice wavering. Mahone laughed.

"You won't get the chance. With the odds against you like this, you might as well just surrender. Else you might just end up dead."

Dean jumped as Sam laughed, a bitter, rich sound he had never really thought would come from his little brother's mouth. He turned, seeing in the corner of his eye that Mahone was just as stunned, and suddenly calculating, like he was continually being surprised by what the hunter managed to do.

"You won't kill us," Sam affirmed, sounding far stronger than he had before. As if he were taking control. As if all his pain was washing away. "You know how pissed the demon would be. And you know he'll know the instant I'm dead. Once he learns you had Dean, and then killed him, you'll wish it had let the hellhounds take you back to hell like you deserved."

Mahone's grin slipped further with every word until finally he was scowling, anger and hate battling for dominance in the dim light of his stormy eyes. "Careful there, Sam. There's plenty of other targets. Even if the demon cared about little miss Anya and her brother, there's still four other deaths that it wouldn't even notice. Two of which would be on you. Do they even know it's your fault they're here? Or did you leave that little detail out?"

Sam clenched his fists, taking a step forward. But Dean placed a hand on Sam's chest, forcing him to stop, before looking back to Mahone. Before he could speak however, Mahone continued.

"And then of course, there's a certain little wife of mine, Dean. She's here, too, somewhere. And that's on your head."

Dean growled again, finger itching to pull the trigger. "You fucking bastard! What did you do to her?"

Mahone just shrugged. "I gave her exactly what she deserved for helping you out. And for calling the cops. Did you know you and your brother have all but destroyed me?" The anger flashed in his eyes. "It's going to be fun returning the favour. I'm pretty sure the demon won't care if I hurt you a little bit. And even if he does, I'll make you watch as I kill Holly nice and slow."

Dean snarled, and the twins cocked their guns, matching glares on their faces. Ash's eyes were a little white with horror, but they were both ready to kill the bastard tormenting them in whatever way they could.

He turned back to Mahone. "I'm going to kill you," he said, so simply that Mahone's eyes widened slightly.

And then he regained his swagger a little. "The question is, Winchester, do you have the balls to do it? Or can you only watch it happen?"

Dean took a step forward, standing squarely in front of the group behind him. He felt confidence as Sam stood behind him, felt courage as he knew Sam had his back, felt that hunter inside come alive like only a Winchester could. He knew his little brother was feeling the same.

"The question is, Mahone, do you have the balls to find out?"

He didn't give the man a chance to answer. He pulled the trigger, praying he wasn't killing them all.

To his relief his prayers were answered – no one shot back, but watched in stunned silence as Mahone was blown off his feet, falling and sliding back with a pained cry.

Dean dropped the aim of the shotgun, grinning ruthlessly as Mahone coughed, moaned, and sat up, a hand to his bloodied chest and ruined shirt. The man looked up at Dean, shocked.

"Rock salt," Dean explained. "Hurts like a bitch, don't it."

The loathing crept across Mahone's face like a shadow, twisting it until he was almost unrecognisable as even being human.

"Get them!" came the guttural cry, and Dean stepped back, defensive. "I want them alive! Get them!"

He continued shouting the orders like it was some kind of mantra, screaming and screaming at them, his voice mixing in with the pounding feet of his guards. The three armed hunters managed to shoot off only one round each, the three bullets only depleting their enemy by only one. That man fell as the tide rushed at them.

Dean swung the shotgun like a club, hitting his first opponent in the temple; the guy crashed to the ground, and the hunter turned to find another. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mena, the bucks night guy and the couple huddling against the wall, arms covering heads. Sam was trying to fend off his own opponent, while Ash and Anya fought back-to-back, arms up, guns discarded. The fighting quarters were too close to brave shooting at anyone.

Dean took all this in during a frenzied second as he turned to try to help Sam. He grabbed the guy his little brother was fighting, pulling the solid man back hard enough for him to hit the opposite wall. Letting Sam half-collapse with exhaustion, he turned to the man.

He didn't turn quick enough, and the guy punched him hard in the face. Dean spun back, vision going blank for a second, a second too long. The man tackled him, shoving them both through the open door of a cell.

Dean lashed out wildly, glad to hear and feel his fist connect with something solid. The man over him grunted as his other fist connected with somewhere a little softer.

He barely saw the fist coming, couldn't turn to block it in time. His vision went black again, coming around in time to see a second fist coming his way.

The fist never made it. A strangled cry came from somewhere close before the man on top of him was pushed out of sight.

Dean rolled over, feeling dazed from the strength of the punches, and his sight landed on his little brother. Sam had been the tackler and was now laying into the man, shouting wordlessly with each punch. And the man wasn't fighting back either, his face a mess of blood.

Dean struggled uneasily to his feet, stumbling over to the edge of the empty cell and pulling Sam away. His little brother came away effortlessly, panting slightly and nearly falling as he stood on his two feet.

"Mahone may have been the one ordering him about," Sam muttered as he stared down at the unconscious man. "But this was the sick son of a bitch doing it all. And loving every fucking second. I should kill him for what he's done. I bet he's done it to so many…"

With a start Dean realized Sam was talking about being tortured. Suddenly wishing he hadn't pulled Sam away, he grabbed his little brother around his chest and made him walk back further.

"He deserves every bit of pain you can give him, Sammy," Dean snarled quietly in his little brother's ear. "But you're not him, and you never will be. You don't deserve to live with that guilt."

Feeling the anger burning in his chest, Dean guided Sam to the door, and out.

He should have known something was up. Should have guessed from the sudden silence that something was wrong. But he shepherded his little brother out of the door, ignoring every bit of training, every instinct that screamed at him to stop, because something had gone terribly wrong for them.

The two shots fired nearly simultaneously made both brothers jump, hearts sinking. Dean, barely out of the cell and hidden still by the outwardly swinging door, could only watch in horror while Sam…

Sam jumped, gasping. As if in slow motion he glanced down to where his hand was lying against his pelvis. And Dean could only watch as he drew it away to look at the blood dripping from the limb, before the older man's gaze turned from it to the blood almost pulsing from the wound where that bullet had hit him hard above the leg.

Everything seemed to go quiet. Sam glanced at Dean, horror flitting across his face, and guilt, and grief… and then he fell, eyes rolling back as the darkness consumed them from the inside.

Time sped up once more, sound returning with it, and Dean screamed something incoherent, lunging forward to catch his falling sibling. He managed to gather his brother before Sam hit the ground, easing the unconscious hunter the rest of the distance.

"Sammy?" he asked, brushing the hair out of his brother's eyes. He looked about, heart pounding, taking in the rest of his brother's body. He looked so bad, broken and bleeding. With a start Dean realized blood was pumping quickly from the hole in Sam's hip and he placed a hand over it. "Sammy, can you hear me?" he begged desperately.

He didn't notice the sudden silence, didn't notice Anya taking the gun from Mena's hands where she stood behind Mahone's fallen body, his head half gone, lying motionless on the ground, the second gun lying inches from his limp hand. Didn't hear the pounding feet approaching, the shouts that made the rest look about in terror or resignation. All he could see, hear, was Sam as his breathing became more laboured, as his pulse began to slow, as his baby brother didn't respond to the pressure on his wound.

"Sam!" he screamed suddenly, letting the younger hunter drop to the floor completely, and kneeling over him. Ash was suddenly next to him, offering a bundled cloth of some kind. Dean didn't have the attention span to notice that it was the kid's shirt. "Sammy, come on!"

He pressed the shirt against Sam's wound, pressed hard and flinched when Sam didn't. He leaned forward, placing a finger against his little brother's neck. He began breathing again as he found a pulse, however weak it was.

"Come on, Sammy," he breathed for the younger man's ears only. "You can't leave me yet. You can't follow Dad this soon."

The feet suddenly pounded around the corner and stopped, though Dean still barely noticed them. The silence that afflicted the corridor became heavier, before it was drowned out by horrified mutterings. Feet stepped lightly around bodies, and Dean flinched as a hand touched his shoulder.

But he didn't look up, didn't move besides that one jump, just called out to Sam again as he felt his little brother slipping. "Come on, Sammy, hold on. Please, hold on."

Regaining his voice, Dean cried out, glistening eyes never leaving Sam's closed ones. "Someone call an ambulance, we have to get him out of here."

"We don't need to, Dean," Ash said softly by his side. It was the kid's hand on his shoulder, Dean realized. He looked up to stare at the younger kid, and saw the grief in his eyes. Dean felt his throat constrict.

"Don't you dare say it," he spat quietly. Ash shook his head, and the grief suddenly changed to something else. Dean wasn't sure was it was, couldn't think straight, couldn't… suddenly he looked around, and the tears dropped suddenly as relief made him sag. He realized why they didn't need to call anyone.

"The cops are here, Dean."

* * *

Phew, there's a relief. Wonder how they got there? Wait, I already know. And I guess you'll find out next posting! Until then, bye.


	17. Chapter 17: Demon's Doing

**Warning:** Angst, drama… oh, and I know, shocking, but there's swearing too.

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Chapter 17: Demon's Doing

The interior of the hospital seemed far too bright after the dim lighting of Mahone's prison and the dark back of the squad car as it had sped back to town after the ambulance ferrying his dying brother.

Dean's hands were shaking as they held the steaming cup of coffee, the one he hadn't touched yet. The nurse said it was shock, and he was inclined to agree. He just hadn't really gone through it since he was four and a demon burned his mother on the ceiling.

Ash paced in front of him, but Dean could only see the kid out of the top of his eyelids. He was staring down, waiting. Waiting for some news on Sam, anything. No, not anything. He needed to know Sam was going to be okay. He couldn't lose his brother, not now.

Morgan, the cop he and Sam had spoken to about Laura Jennings' disappearance only two days ago – God it felt like a lifetime – was sitting in a seat two up from Dean. He was waiting patiently, like it was his job to just watch them. Dean knew the officer wanted to ask them a few questions, such as who were they, why had they been after Mahone without police help, and why were they pretending to be journalists.

Dean was just grateful the man was waiting quietly. He knew that in his current state of mind, he would have been likely to answer truthfully.

He put his cup on the ground and rubbed his eyes. The only good thing that had happened so far was that he no longer smelled like shit. The nurses had given him the order to shower before the stink made them drive him out of the hospital, dying brother or not. At least they had let him shower at the hospital, and given him and Ash a set of scrubs each to wear. He could change out of them when he got the Impala back.

A door swung open and Dean looked up hopefully, feeling frustrated when it was only Anya. Still, he stood up as Ash stopped pacing and all but ran to his twin sister.

He followed at a slower pace, but took her in. She had stitches from a fresh cut above her eye, a wound from the fight, and her left arm was in a sling, though it was only bandaged, not in a cast. Apart from that she was just looking battered, though the angry hand mark around her jaw looked painful. Dean smiled as she paused a few metres from the door, wearing her own set of scrubs. Dean wondered absently if the hospital had enough to go around.

"Any news on Sam?" she asked hopefully. Dean looked away, shrugging.

"They had to take him up to surgery…" Ash told her. "We don't really know any specifics. But they took him straight up. They haven't told us anything."

Anya nodded, biting her lip, and giving Dean a sympathetic look that he ignored. He didn't want their pity. He just needed his brother.

The frustration building inside his chest, he returned to his seat, basically collapsing into it. Anya came to sit beside him, wincing as she knocked her elbow on the plastic arm.

"What's the verdict?" Dean asked quietly before she could say anything. The look in his eyes clearly told her to back off with the intended chick flick moment.

She leaned back, waving her arm slightly in the sling. "Not too bad. Fractured wrist. And that's just a scratch," she said, motioning with her eyes up at the stitches. "Not even a concussion. I got off easy."

Dean held back a laugh. She had no fucking clue. Compared to Sam… Dean was no doctor, but he knew his little brother was in deep shit.

He sighed instead and leaned back into the chair. He felt Morgan flick a glance at him before the cop stood and went to the coffee machine. Anya watched him with a curious look.

"What's he doing here?" she asked in a quiet voice. Dean glanced up at the man and shrugged.

"Damned if I know. He knows we're not exactly going anywhere until Sam's out of the hospital." His little meltdown back at Mahone's prison should have been proof of that. Nearly every cop in the city had seen that. He didn't care. "What I'd rather know is how they found us out at Mahone's place?"

Anya gave a startled jump. "I can answer that. One of the medics, in the ambulance I was in, she told me. Apparently Mahone's wife left a message on her phone, and then hid it when Landly broke through the door."

At his questioning gaze, she swallowed. "Landly's the guy… he's the one who helped Mahone question Sam," she told him quietly. Dean felt fury erupt in his chest. That prick he had stopped Sam from killing! "Sick freak, he… he was basically Mahone's right hand man. I saw what he did to that woman, Mahone's wife. And he would have loved it."

Dean pushed nausea away. "At least she's alive. I'm just surprised Landly didn't find the phone and take it."

Anya shook her head. "He didn't have time to find it. The cops showed up, when you called them, and they would have had to leave before they were discovered."

Dean shook his head, before rubbing his face, frustration boiling. "Nothing turned out the way it should have," he told her. "I mean, you and Sam getting caught was just the first, and the worst." He glanced up to where Morgan was returning to his seat. "The club should have given me and Ash all the answers we needed, and instead an innocent girl was killed. Mahone's house should have been easy, and we got tripped by a fucking alarm, not to mention nearly getting Holly killed… And then Mena's the one who shoots Mahone. I just kept…"

He trailed off, looking wistfully at the doors where the doctors were bound to come out of. And then jumped when Anya punched him sharply in the ribs.

"Ow, what!" he cried, glaring at her. It was nothing on hers though.

"Don't you dare start blaming yourself, you arrogant son of a bitch!" she whispered, trying not to alarm the various others waiting in the hospital. "You did what you could, and whatever you like to dream, Dean, you're far from infallible. You're human, you're bound to come across hiccups. You did what you could, and no one but yourself is going to ask anymore."

He gave her a disgruntled frown. "You know for some whiny kid, you're pretty smart."

"That's what they tell me," she told him in a low voice. "But if you call me kid again, I will have to bitch slap you."

Dean gave a laugh, before the smell of hospital hit him once more. He sighed, grabbing his lukewarm coffee from the floor. "How long is this going to take?" he demanded of no one, looking around. He shifted his weight as Ash sat in the chair on the other side of Anya.

He yawned as he felt sleep creeping up on him, but shoved it away harshly. He couldn't sleep yet. Not until he knew Sam was going to be okay.

The wait was hours long. Dean alternated between sitting and pacing when he could feel himself slipping towards the sleep that both Ash and Anya had fallen to. She slept on his shoulder while he rested his head on hers. Dean tried not to disturb them as he got up and down.

Morgan left around dawn, sneaking away so quietly Dean didn't even hear him leave. He noticed the empty chair and stared for a moment, before shrugging and grabbing another cup of the liquid the hospital claimed was coffee. Whatever it was, it was hot and it was keeping him awake, which was all he wanted. He didn't care that it tasted like crap.

It was early morning and he had just sat down once more when the door swung open and a tired looking doctor came through. Dean swallowed, giving Ash and Anya a nudge. They both jumped awake instantly, the doctor being the first thing they set their eyes on. Then they both looked at Dean, who had gone a little pale.

"Family of Sam McKinley?" the man called out, and Dean jumped up, striding over before he gave into the urge to hurl. His heart pounded away beneath his chest, and he had to take a deep breath as he came to a halt before the doctor, Ash and Anya not far behind him.

"I'm his brother, Dean," the older hunter said breathlessly, in a small voice. He couldn't bring himself to go on.

"I'm Doctor Ellis," the man greeted, the shadowy circles under his eyes more noticeable as he glanced at the twins. "Are they family too?"

Dean nodded. "They helped save his life. I'd count that as family." He swallowed, before continuing in a rush. "How's Sam?" _Please tell me he's alive._

The first thing the doctor did was sigh and Dean felt the room spin. But then Ellis looked up at him, and Dean saw no grief in his eyes. The room slammed to a halt.

"He's alive," Ellis confirmed. "I have to tell you, he's only just alive. What that bastard did to him…" he trailed off into a growl, but Dean wasn't surprised that he knew. He figured half the town would know about Mahone by now, if not the specifics of his victims. Victims like Sam.

Ellis shook his head, before pinning Dean with a stare. "But he came through surgery. We almost lost him twice… Right now he's being moved into ICU. You can visit him after I finish speaking to you, but I'm afraid you won't be able to stay all the time."

Dean nodded, saving the argument for later. "So why'd the surgery take so long?" he asked.

"He had a lot of injuries. A surprising amount considering the medics said he had been conscious not long before the cavalry arrived. Well, we were surprised. But… but I'll go through it from the start."

He shifted from foot to foot and Dean found himself growing impatient. "The bullet wound in his shoulder was infected. We had to cut a bit of the dead matter away, but we're hopeful he'll regain full use of his arm, once the infection backtracks. The bullet in his hip was fresh, and should have been causing a lot of pain," Dean frowned at the 'should'. "Especially considering the bullet was very close to the bone. But he's lucky, there should be no lasting damage, after some rehabilitation. He had some internal bleeding into his stomach, but again, no lasting damage. Um, concussion and a cracked skull. Broken ribs, and one of them managed to half-puncture his right lung in that last fight before the cops arrived. Though how he would have been able to stand, let alone fight, is well beyond me. Which brings me to my second biggest concern."

Dean didn't speak as the doctor paused, didn't dare to. He was trying to take in the extent of Sam's injuries.

Ellis nodded before continuing, seeing that Dean understood the magnitude of what was happening. "My second biggest concern is that even after surgery, even with drugs, Sam doesn't seem to be responding. He has a small case of pneumonia, from being in a cold cell for a few days without a jacket, but the antibiotics aren't working as they should be in order to fix it. It's only early, so it may start working. It may already have. But like I said, Sam should have been in a lot of pain… and yet he was fighting, and walking, and conscious."

"What are you trying to say?" Dean demanded in a small voice. Behind him Anya was finding it harder to breath, knowing the demon had messed with Sam somehow.

Ellis sighed. "For some reason he's not responding to his injuries. Like they're numb, or a part of someone else. He doesn't feel the pain. He mustn't have felt the wound in his shoulder… It's almost as if he's separated from the injuries he's sustained."

"Which means?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows hopelessly.

"Which means his body isn't working at fixing them," the doctor explained in a rush. "We did what we could in surgery, stopping the bleeding. That at least, got into gear after we gave him some clotting agents, something we really didn't want to do considering the anaesthetic and concussion. But we had to give it to him as he was coming off the anaesthetic, because we couldn't keep on giving him donor blood."

"What happens if his body doesn't start responding?" Anya asked from behind. Ellis gave a half shrug, obviously not wanting to explain this bit.

"If the antibiotics don't start working, the pneumonia will take hold. If his lung doesn't heal, he could start taking in fluid there. What we did in surgery can only do so much… And then there's my biggest concern. His heart."

Dean so didn't want to know. "What's wrong with his heart?" he felt his traitorous mouth ask.

Ellis sighed once more. "In layman's terms, it's beating irregularly. It's strange, almost like something pulled it out of rhythm and then shoved it back in however it pleased. There were signs of some kind of stress, but his heart should have been able to correct itself. Only, with his… injury disassociation, it hasn't, and it's only getting worse. The shock to get him back probably didn't help all that much, despite keeping him alive. His heart is getting weaker."

"What are you saying?" Dean asked, fingers itching to throttle the doctor for every bit of bad news he had given them.

"I'm saying…" Ellis began, before his eyes clouded over. "I'm saying, that at this rate, the way Sam's going now, it's a race. A race to see what kills him first."

"How long?" Dean asked, finding it harder to breathe. "How long until he… until he… until…"

He couldn't finish the question, but Ellis got the idea. He shook his head, obviously thinking. Then he sighed. "A day, at most. I'm sorry."

The room began spinning again and Dean's breath hitched in his chest, making it hurt. "No fucking way," he breathed, feeling perilously close to tears.

Ellis dropped his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry," he repeated, looking back up. "But we can only do so much. We've tried everything… It's up to Sam, now. Look, he's still fighting, he is. His body just isn't responding to his mind. He's comfortable, and he'll stay that way. Hopefully something will start healing, or something will happen."

Dean bit back tears. "Can I see him?" he asked hoarsely. Ellis nodded.

"Follow me, I'll take you to him."

Leaving Ash and Anya in the waiting room, he followed the doctor, not really paying attention to where he was going. Not until Ellis stopped.

"I have to warn you," the man said quietly. "He won't look good. He's got the machine breathing for him, and there are a hell of a lot of IV lines. It looks messy. But talk to him. I'm sure he's still in there."

Dean nodded, staring at the doctor. He put his hand on the door, and prepared himself. He stopped though when Ellis put his hand on Dean's arm.

"I am sorry," the man told him earnestly. "After everything Mahone put him through, this isn't fair. I wish I could help him more."

Dean nodded once more, and slipped through the door before the doctor saw his tears. And then he turned to his unconscious little brother.

His breath caught again, and he felt tears rolling down his face. The sight hit him hard, of Sammy, looking so little and so broken, so hurt and bruised beneath the too-white sheet.

Crying silently he dropped into the chair put there for his convenience. And then he laid his head down on the sheets and sobbed, praying Ellis was wrong and that Sam couldn't hear his hopelessness.

* * *

So, A, I'm no doctor, and usually avoid hospital scenes where I'm likely to have to explain something. All knowledge for this came from resistant memories of year 12 biology a few years ago, so don't blame me if it's a bit skewy.

Ok, B, normally I'm not a huge fan of all this drama, aka, limpSam, I think that's what it's called. But, I thought, what the hey.

And C, cause I'm feeling generous, here's another chapter!


	18. Chapter 18: Taking a Breath

**Chapter 18: Taking a Breath**

When Dean emerged from the room half an hour later, he found the corridor empty. Finding himself thankful, he turned the opposite way to the direction he had come, away from Ash and Anya. The kids were great, not that they were kids, but they were nearly strangers. And he couldn't handle the pity in their eyes as they stared at him. Couldn't handle seeing their relief at having each other back. Because he wanted that same relief, to see Sam open his eyes, to have Sam in the passenger seat of the car, to just drive away and find some simple job away from anyone or anything even remotely human-looking. Because humans just always made the job messy.

After an aimless walk he found himself somehow in a small garden, void of people but overwhelming in colour and smell. Giving the whole place a distasteful glare, he nevertheless parked himself on the chair off to the side, leaning forward, elbows on knees.

He needed to think. This seemed as good a place as any. He couldn't do it in Sam's room, not while watching the machine endlessly push air into his little brother's otherwise motionless lungs. And he couldn't do it in the waiting room, not with Ash and Anya's eyes piercing him, watching his every move.

He leaned back, spreading his arms and frowning at nothing. His moment of weakness was gone, leaving him slightly hollow but with a spreading determination that was refreshing. It was like his mind was getting air again, or like fire was spreading slowly along his already boiling veins.

There had to be a way to help Sam. Some cure, some… no, the doctors would have found it already. And Ellis had looked as helpless as Dean had felt. Going by the look in the doctor's eyes, the man had had no clue how to help Sam anymore than he had already tried.

He looked down, shutting his eyes against the warmth of the sun on his face. It was a weak warmth, but after the last couple of days he had endured, it was like walking from the pits of hell to be greeted by the noon sun on a summer's day. Not that he was getting poetic or anything.

He shifted slightly, blinking to avoid falling asleep. There had to be something, some way to stop Sam from dying. And he had twenty-three and a half hours to do it, at the most.

The thought that his brother could be dead by dawn the next day was like a kick in the gut.

He closed his eyes once more, lifting his face. But he didn't feel the sun anymore. His head was running through the same list it had every five minutes for the past half hour, though this time there was a reason, or a purpose at least. It might give him a clue.

Broken ribs, infected shoulder, shot hip, concussion, unsteady heart… Broken ribs, infected shoulder, shot hip, concussion, unsteady heart… Broken ribs, demon throwing him, infected shoulder, from the…_ He couldn't even say it in his head. Couldn't bring himself to say that Sam had been tortured. _Shot hip, Mahone did that before Mena out him down, concussion, fucking demon again… unsteady heart…

That one he didn't have a cause for. What could have caused it? But it couldn't be the problem, not when the problem was causing. Could it?

He groaned, rubbing his face and leaning forward. He was going in circles. _Broken ribs, demon, shoulder, Mahone, hip, Mahone, concussion, demon, heart…_

The heart had to be the demon. Nothing else could do that. His eyes shot open suddenly, alight with a new fierceness. All Sam's injuries came back to Mahone or the demon.

_It did something to me, Dean…_

Growling out loud, and surprising even himself, he jumped off the seat and began storming through the hospital.

* * *

The waiting room was slightly more packed than when he had left, but Dean ignored all the stares as he marched through in his scrubs.

Anya stood as he appeared, relief on her face. Ash was nowhere to be seen, but Dean didn't care. What he needed to know, only Anya could answer anyway.

"How's Sam?" she asked as he came to her, before falling silent at the angry look on his face. He didn't give her a chance to speak after that. He grabbed her uninjured arm, still ignoring the looks of everyone around, and began dragging her away.

Dean had already spied an empty room as he aimed for Anya, and that was where he took her, hand probably a little too tight around her arm. She followed without a fuss, but she was obviously confused. He only just stopped himself from slamming the door behind him.

Finally she yanked her arm out of his grip, turning to glare at him. "What is your problem?" she demanded.

"What did it do to him?" Dean spat back, quivering slightly. She frowned.

"Who did what do to who?"

Dean felt his fists clenching. "Don't fucking play games with me, Anya. What did that bastard of a demon do to my little brother?"

She flinched. "You think it's responsible for… I wasn't sure…"

Dean leaned back, rearing to his full height. "You've been thinking about it!" he accused, before lowering his voice. "And when were you going to tell me any of it?"

She glared up at him, not at all frightened by his charade. "When you got back from seeing Sam!" she growled at him. "But then you came back all angry, I thought something had happened! You haven't given me a chance to tell you anything."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "We were in that waiting room for seven fucking hours, don't give me that bullshit."

"What you think the demon explained everything in minute detail?" she seethed. "I had no _clue_ that it had messed with Sam like it has. If I had, you would have been the first to know!"

Dean growled, spinning and rubbing his face. Not letting go of his anger just yet, he turned back to Anya. "So what did it do to him?" he demanded.

She went pale. "A lot," she told him. "After Mahone got a phone call about his men finding the couple, he was angry. They were going to question Sam again. I tried to stop them, and I did. Me and Sam were making short work of them, when the demon interfered. That's where I got this." She motioned at her bruise on her jaw. "It started killing me, and it would have if Sam hadn't broken free and tackled it. He hit it a few times… and then it grabbed him, slammed his head against the wall."

"Thus the concussion," Dean concluded, feeling his anger draining. His heart was still beating wildly though. "What next?"

"It lifted him up, began choking him. And then… I'm not sure, but it put its hand over Sam's heart. And he screamed… I think that's where the irregular beat comes from. And then it dropped Sam, grabbed his hand… and then Sam…"

She trailed off, horror misting her eyes. "What?" Dean pushed. He had to know.

"Sam began… convulsing. And screaming. Even some of Mahone's men looked horrified."

She sighed, looking away. "When Sam woke up, he couldn't remember much, until after I reminded him. Then he said it did something to him. He said something about a deal. Or something similar. He said that the demon seals its deals with a handshake. And it grabbed his hand."

"But what did it do to him?" the older hunter asked, leaning forward. "And what can we do to reverse it?"

Her eyes misted again, and she shook her head. "I don't know exactly what it did to him. When he woke up, he was tired, and he kept moving from being in pain, to not. Not that he actually said anything. But you could tell."

"What can we do to reverse it?" Dean repeated slowly. She looked away, and he knew.

"We can't?" It came out as a question, but he knew. He took a seat on the desk behind him as she shook her head.

"The demon made some kind of deal, with or without Sam's agreement. Only it can reverse it."

Dean paused for a moment, the room teasing him by refusing to move. He should have known.

After that moment though, his eyes hardened. He knew what they had to do. "I know who we have to talk to," he told Anya.

* * *

The waiting room was still pretty full when they returned, finding Ash. But the younger man wasn't alone.

Morgan saw them approach from behind Ash, and the hunter turned. Dean realized the kid was out of the clothes the hospital had given him, and was looking pretty refreshed. Judging by the duffle bag by his feet, the kid had been back to the motel. With a start he realized he wasn't sure where the Impala was.

"How's Sam?" Ash asked as Dean and Anya took a seat. Dean shook his head.

"About the same. Not good."

Morgan's eyes took on the same pitying look as the twins, and Dean ignored it. "What are you doing here, Officer?" he asked the cop. "Here to ask us some questions?"

To his surprise, Morgan shook his head. "No. I came to check on the condition of the people Mahone had down in his lair. We can get statements another time."

Anya and Dean shared a look. "Okay," Anya said slowly, frowning when Morgan smiled.

Seeing their confusion, the man chuckled. "I'm guessing you three have dealt with cops before, right?"

Dean gave a half-hearted shrug. Too often for their own good. Morgan nodded. "But I'm guessing the interaction hasn't been for shutting down a menace to society." To that, the hunters had no answer. Not one that they thought Morgan would believe anyway. The cop continued. "Lafayette is indebted to you, to all four of you. And my boss has decided to… overlook any misdemeanours you may or may not have committed while bringing Mahone down."

As Dean's jaw dropped, Morgan looked around, lowering his voice. "Mahone was a plague on this city. And you were the cure. It just doesn't mean you did the right thing, legally. We're still going to need statements," he told them. "But we're willing to wait a while. You've been through a lot, and you're getting little in return. But in the meantime, we're taking the credit for this. I'm assuming that's okay with you all?"

Dean nodded quickly. "It is," he backed up vocally. It wasn't like they ever got vast amounts of gratitude back anyway. The odd person learned the truth about what was out there, and was thankful for what they had done, but if society ever learned the truth… Dean didn't want to think about it.

Seeing the set look of their faces, Morgan nodded and stood. "I hope your brother makes it," he said to Dean as the hunter rose, offering his hand. "It's the least he deserves. And if you need anything, anything at all, call me. I'll do what I can."

Dean nodded, knowing he would never actually call the cop. He took the card nevertheless, sitting back down as Morgan left. Then he turned to Ash, feeling Anya's own determination perk up.

"Come on," he told the younger man. "We've got work to do."

* * *

The feel of his leather jacket was oddly comforting as Dean strolled around the hospital, intent on finding one room. He knew which one it was, after Anya had stolen a glimpse at a nurse's roster while Dean had distracted her. At another time, he would have been flirting with her for real. But he was working. That frame of mind was keeping him from falling over with exhaustion.

He turned a corner and spied the cop guarding the door at the other end of the hallway. And Anya coming from the opposite direction. It was her turn to do the distracting, taking the cop away so Dean could sneak into the room maybe halfway down the corridor.

After a few minutes Anya winked, aiming it for him and she and the cop left. Ash had orders to stop anyone coming from the other direction, the one Dean had come from. And Dean…

He crept up the corridor, studying the numbers above each door until he found the one he wanted. Feeling the weight of the knife at his hip, hidden by the jacket, he took a deep breath and went in.

He turned as he entered, closing the door softly. He needed to keep a hold of his emotions, had to stay calm. Outright anger wasn't going get the answers he needed.

The person in the bed behind him sat up as Dean turned around. The first thing the hunter noticed was the cuff around one hand, keeping the man locked to the bed. Then his gaze travelled upwards, fingers twitching. He met the man's eyes, and he knew he was only holding on to himself by a thread. The cold, infuriating anger in the man's eyes made him want to stab him then and there. He had tried to kill Sam. He still didn't know the details of what had happened to Mena, but he was willing to bet this man was responsible for that as well. His lips retracted into a snarl and the first hint of fear crept into the man's eyes.

"Landly."

* * *

And that's where I'll leave it. Thanks for reading!


	19. Chapter 19: Preparation

**Disclaimer:** Really need a reminder? Okay then. I don't own them.

**Warning:** Naughty words. Usual, you know.

**Author's Note:** Hate to do this to you again, but there won't be a post after tonight for another two nights, considering I'm working late both tomorrow and the next day. I know, real life sucks huh. But money is money and money is needed. Go figure.

**

* * *

**

Chapter 19: Preparation

The man stared at him, obviously refusing to give into the fright that was just as obviously tearing through his gut.

"Who the hell are you?" the man spat. Then suddenly his eyes widened. "I know you!"

Dean grinned, not letting it touch his eyes. "So glad. Don't need to introduce myself as the guy who's going to kill oh so slowly."

Landly's eyes widened. "Look, Winchester, you have no idea who you're fucking with here," the man growled threateningly. Dean gave a short laugh.

"See, that's what I was going to say." He took a step closer to the bed and pulled back his jacket, revealing the knife. He shook off any amusement in his eyes until they became deadly serious. "You have no idea who you're fucking with."

He took another step closer and drew the knife, running it slowly out of the sheath. "You hurt my brother, Landly," he warned the man, feeling his blood boil as the man gave a snarl.

"The little shit should have told us what he knew!" the man defended. "All he had to do was tell us -."

He cut off into a small yelp as Dean sprung forwards, bringing the knife to a quick halt beside his neck, laying the edge so still against the soft skin of the neck. This close Dean could almost smell the fear rolling off the man, could feel his pulse pounding away under his hold on the man's shirt. Could hear Landly swallow as he saw death made human in the icy eyes staring down mercilessly on him.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slit your throat from ear to ear, right here, right now," he whispered menacingly in the guy's ear. Landly made a soft sound of fear, sending a thrill of disgust coursing through Dean. He never wanted to do this again.

"Mahone was the one telling me… I didn't want to…" Landly trailed off, the defence sounding far too weak to even his own ears. Dean snorted.

"Poor excuse, Landly," Dean spat. "I know you enjoyed every fucking second, every finger you laid on every one you have _ever _hurt! Admit it, you sadistic son of a bitch!"

He needed only the slight stir in the man's eyes to know he spoke the truth. Giving a low growl, Dean drew back the knife.

"Please don't kill me!" Landly suddenly begged, eyes on the knife. Dean cocked an eyebrow, and smirked.

"Why not?" he asked. "You tortured my brother…" And at that thought, the smirk dropped and incredible anger filled him, filled his eyes, forcing Landly back with the hatred. "You hurt him. Would you have stopped, if he had asked? Would you have stopped hitting him if he had begged for the pain to stop? What about now? Huh! Does he deserve to die because you fucked up bastards…"

The fear reached a climax in the man's eyes until they were shining brightly. "Please…" Landly whispered, terrified by the sight of those ruthless, uncaring orbs staring madly down at him.

Dean didn't listen, just let his disgust flare in his eyes, knowing the man would take it as yet more anger, as loathing.

Giving a hard grunt he shoved his arm forward, knife aimed for Landly's throat. The man cried out, almost shrieking, cutting off as the knife sliced his neck…

Dean paused, feeling the anger dissipating slightly. The man was pathetic, eyes closed, breathing hard, tears leaking.

He tapped the man on the cheek with the knife, ignoring the thin red line growing on Landly's neck where the knife had just scraped him.

"Open up," Dean ordered, still tapping the blade against the pale cheek. He sniffed, then groaned, ignoring the growing puddle on the bed, concentrating only on Landly's sagging relief.

He didn't let go of the man, knowing he was the only thing holding Landly up. The man's eyes opened, staring down at the blade a hair's width from killing him. And then he looked up at Dean.

"Why didn't you kill me?" he asked, dumbstruck. Dean stared harder.

"I need answers," he told Mahone's right-hand man. He seemed a bare shell now, emptied and changed by an attack so terrifying. Dean knew it was less than he deserved, but at least he knew now how everyone he had ever hurt felt.

Landly's eyes widened. "Answers?" he asked with a swallow. Dean nodded.

"I need answers," he repeated. "And you're the only one who can give them to me."

Landly nodded, some fight coming back to his eyes. Dean sneered, shoving him away. He had to be rid of that.

"It's the only reason you're still alive. But be careful, Landly. I don't like what you tell me…"

He let the threat hang in the air, but Landly felt the added pressure. Terror coming back to his eyes, he nodded.

"What do you need to know?"

* * *

The room was so quiet except for the whoosh of the ventilator. Seeing Sam on it was hard, hard to watch his strong baby brother clinging to life. Hard to see him so little, so hurt.

Dean leaned back in the chair, silent, just watching. He had felt a need to cleanse himself after being with Landly. The man lived on causing pain, and Dean knew that he deserved everything that he got. And then some. But causing it, almost becoming that man himself… he never wanted to go down that road again.

"This is going to work," he told Sam suddenly, speaking up in a whisper. "It has to. I don't know what'll happen if you're not there." _I don't know what I'll become_.

There was a sudden knock on the door and Dean shifted on his seat as it opened. He didn't turn around, just knew from the quiet way she entered that it was Anya.

"I didn't think the nurses would let you in," he told her in a low voice.

She came around to stand on the other side of Sam's bed. "They didn't," she admitted. "I was worried about you, when we found you gone from Landly's room. We knew you'd either be here or in the waiting room. Ash's gone to check there."

Dean nodded, resting his chin on his hand, elbow on the arm of the chair. He didn't say anything, just waited for her.

"Did he tell you?" she asked after a moment. Dean could tell she was struggling with the sight of Sam, struggling to stop her eyes roving over his little brother.

"He told me everything, more than we needed to know. The demon was going to take you two tonight, some construction site on the edge of the city. I was going to come down… I just had to see Sam."

Anya nodded, uncomfortable. "Fair enough. Any more news?"

He shook his head. "I haven't spoken to Ellis again. I didn't really want to."

She nodded again, eyes down on Sam once more. Dean shifted in his seat, annoyed. He didn't need this. He didn't need her reminding him just how broken his little brother was.

"Look, could you give me a few minutes?" he asked her, his voice telling her that it was no question. "I'll be down in the waiting room in soon."

She nodded once more, before biting her lip. "You know, it's okay," she told him. He glared up at her.

"What the fuck is okay?" he demanded harshly. "Some demon messed with my little brother so he can't heal from being tortured, and now he's lying in a hospital bed, dying! How the hell is that okay?"

She blanched, shaking her head. "That's not what I meant, Dean," she said, voice a little high. "I meant, you're trying so hard to be strong… you don't have to do that twenty-four-seven. I know how freaked you are."

Dean gave a short, bitter laugh. "You have no idea, Anya. And until you do, shut your mouth."

He hadn't meant to be so harsh, but the words came out nonetheless. She paled a bit, eyes sparking with anger, and she moved to the door, before stopping at the foot of Sam's bed.

"I may not know the exact feeling, Dean, but I've been picturing Ash lying just like this all morning. And I know I'd be breaking down. So don't go getting all pissed at me just because you're not capable of hiding just how scared you are from me."

Dean looked down at Sam. "I already did," he said quietly. She frowned.

"What?"

"I already broke down," he admitted, eyes never leaving Sam. "When I came in here this morning, I just cried. And you know what? Sam would be disgusted. He wouldn't be telling me to be all emotional, to let go of my fear that he's going to die. He'd tell me to get off my ass and do something about it, because anything's better than letting the person you love just die."

He snapped his head up to look at her, and she was wearing a frown, thoughtful and a little guilty. "I may be freaked, Anya. But I'm not going to just break down time and time again to satisfy some chick flick quota. Because sitting here, and sobbing on Sam's bed? That would be admitting he was gone. That there was nothing I could do to help him. And when I did that this morning, I was telling him I was giving up. And I'm never going to do that to him again. So you know what? I'm going to continue hiding just how scared I am, because then at least Sam knows I'm fighting for him."

He stood, shoving the chair back, and left the room, leaving an awed Anya thinking deeply.

He didn't slam the door, but moved down the hall where he could lean against the wall. He could feel that determination running through him. He was right. He could save Sam, stop him from dying. Because that was what he did. That was his job.

He turned towards the waiting room, knowing Anya would meet him down there. He didn't get very far.

"McKinley!"

He recognised the name as his alias, and the voice as Morgan's, and turned to see the cop jogging after him. There was a strange look on his face, partly angry, partly stubborn, with the same set of face Dean knew he himself got when he was about to break the law big time for a hunt.

"You okay?" Dean asked as Morgan approached, slowing down and stopping. "You look a little flushed."

Morgan shook his head. "I'm fine. But look, can we…" He trailed off, looking about to make sure no one was listening. "Can we talk?"

Dean nodded slowly, unsure what the man was getting at. "Sure, what's up?"

"Not here," Morgan answered. "Somewhere private."

Dean made a face. "No. Here's fine. Just keep your voice down." There was something about the guy's voice that he couldn't trust. Some desperation, or something similar.

Morgan looked like he wanted to argue but swallowed what he had been going to say. "Fine. I know you went to see Landly."

Dean glanced about, before lowering his voice a little more. "You don't know shit," he spat a little threateningly.

Morgan put his hands up defensively. "Hey, no need to get aggressive. And I know you went to see him."

"Did that son of a bitch say anything?" the hunter asked in a low growl. The cop actually grinned.

"No," Morgan drawled. "But you made him piss his pants. No one else here's going to make him do that."

Dean paused. Then, "What's it to you?"

Once again Morgan looked about furtively. "I want to help," he told Dean stubbornly.

The hunter reached to his full height, crossing his arms. "Help with what, exactly?" Morgan had to be a complete idiot, to think he would even think about taking a cop along.

"Look, McKinley, I know he told you where Mahone was meeting his boss. And I want to help take that asshole down."

Dean refrained from saying anything about the actual likelihood of 'that asshole' being taken down by the cop, but frowned. "Why would you want that? Do you cops want more credit?

Morgan scowled. "No other cops. Just me. Look, I'll even follow your direction."

Dean nodded. "Okay then. Follow this direction. Let us do our job and stay the hell away."

He turned to leave, but Morgan grabbed his arm. "Don't walk away from me."

The hunter turned and looked down at the hand on his arm. "Let go of me straight away, Morgan. Before I break it."

The cop let go, putting his hands up again. "Okay, okay, wrong move. But you have to let me go with you when you go see him."

"Why the hell do I have to do that?" Dean demanded. "You have no idea what's going on."

He was hoping the cryptic talk would shake Morgan loose, but it didn't. Instead the cop gave him a curious look before sighing.

"Look, Mena… she's my cousin."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Oh," was all he could manage, but Morgan nodded at it.

"Yeah, oh. I thought she was dead, you know. Mahone took her two and a half years ago, because she found out about his little secret. And now she barely recognises me, won't talk, she's scared all the time. I want revenge just like you. And you sure as hell could use some more hands. I'm assuming you're taking Ash and Anya with you. And maybe they're good, but Anya's arm is in a sling. And I'm willing to bet I'd be better than either in a tight spot."

Dean gave him an amused, all-knowing grin. "You're pretty fast to judge people, Morgan. I bet they'd surprise you."

The cop shrugged. "Well, you know them better than I do. But even if they're good, it doesn't mean you don't need someone else along with you."

Dean had to give him that. And he would be controlling the situation. Once the demon revealed itself, he could get Morgan out of the way. Hell, the man would probably run screaming as soon as it did reveal itself.

He sighed. "Fine, you can come." Morgan's face lit up in relief. "Meet us outside the hospital at seven o'clock tonight."

Morgan frowned. "Tonight? But Sam…"

Dean gave him a glare. "Okay, first things first, you're following my lead. And follow it exactly, else you'll get us all killed. Don't go questioning what I say."

Morgan's mouth worked wordlessly until he finally nodded, snapping his jaw shut. "Okay, fine. Seven tonight it is. I'll meet you then."

The cop stalked off, obviously annoyed, but Dean didn't care. He just hoped he had made the right decision. And apparently he wasn't the only one.

"Are you sure about that, Dean?" Anya asked from behind him. He turned, a little surprised that she was there, to face her. "I mean, he's going to freak when we start chanting an exorcism and throwing rock salt. He could decide to shoot us, and not the demon."

Dean shrugged. "It's a risk I'm willing to take. Besides, he's right. An extra person is definitely what we need. And one who the demon's not going to recognise. If I knew any hunters close enough to get here before sunset, I'd ring them. But he'll have to do."

Anya sighed after a moment. "Fine. I guess you're right." She bit her lip, hesitant about speaking further. "And Dean? I'm sorry about what I said in Sam's room. You're right. I never -."

Dean put his hand up, stopping her in her tracks. "What did I say about not filling some chick flick quota, Anya?"

She grinned half-heartedly. "Fine. We should get back to Ash, before he thinks we've killed each other."

* * *

There you go, another chapter. See you on the weekend!


	20. Chapter 20: Meeting the Demon

**Author's Note:** I made brownies this afternoon… and burnt them, but that's beside the point. What is the point is that they still taste nice, and there's one for each of you poor readers out there who had to wait two days for another post, yet again. I will eat them in your honour.

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Chapter 20: Meeting the Demon

Dean jumped awake with a start, groaning as he straightened his back from where it had been bent over leaning on Sam's bed. Rubbing his eyes, he looked over Sam a few times before he realized nothing had changed for his little brother.

Sighing and leaning back in the chair, he looked out the window, surprised to see it was almost dark. He checked his watch; it was six o'clock. Just an hour before they would meet Morgan and head to the abandoned construction site. Ash and Anya would be back soon, from gathering what they needed for tonight.

What surprised him though was the fact that he had slept for nearly five hours. It felt good, he felt better. Actually refreshed. Well, refreshed enough to take on the demon.

He shifted in the hard chair, wincing as his butt came alive again. And he stared down at Sam.

According to Anya, Sam had known the secret to destroying the demon. He just hadn't had a chance to tell her. Or anyone. Dean hoped he would figure it out when he met the demon himself, in a few hours.

"If only you could give me a clue, Sammy," Dean muttered, hoping for a response. The only one was the continual whoosh that echoed around the room every few seconds. Dean sighed.

"You'd better hold on, bitch," Dean said softly, leaning forward and grabbing Sam's hand in his. It was something he would never do if he thought Sam was going to wake. He just knew Sam would fell it, that hopefully Sam would be comforted by it.

"Keep fighting, Sam. I know you can hear me. Don't let it win."

He squeezed the hand under his, and felt the weight in his gut grow when there was no pressure back. He sighed, and dropped Sam's hand, leaning down on his elbows.

He was nearly falling asleep once more when he heard it. A slightly quicker beep. And then it became quicker again.

Dean's head shot up, vision tunnelling on the screen where Sam's heart rate was shown. It was getting faster. And faster. He felt his own heart begin to race. And then alarms went off.

He got to his feet as people slammed through the door, face going pale, anxiety clenching his stomach, twisting that pit in there until he felt too nauseas to even move. But he didn't have any choice in that.

Somehow he found himself outside Sam's room, the door shutting in his face. Realizing they had just shoved him out he launched himself at the door that was only a few inches away, making it rattle in its hinges. He thudded his fists into it again.

"Let me in!" he screamed, needing to be there, needing to be with Sam. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be. "Sam!"

There was no response; he couldn't even hear anything through the door, couldn't hear what they were doing. He just knew, knew in the pit clawing his way from his stomach to his heart, that he was losing his little brother. Sam was slipping away.

Suddenly horrified, he backed up until his back hit the wall, sliding down it when his legs decided they couldn't hold him up anymore. And he sat there, hoping the meeting tonight wasn't going to be hours too late.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there for, but he knew how long it felt. It felt like seconds, heart-pounding, soul-wrenching seconds before Ellis reappeared, his face drawn, his eyes tired.

Dean jumped to his feet, and he was in front of the doctor before he even realized his back had left the wall.

"Tell me he's alive," Dean all but ordered the doctor. Ellis looked up at him.

"Sam's still alive," he said. Dean was so relieved he didn't hear the 'but' coming. "But he's a lot worse, Dean."

The hunter felt the floor move, and he had to stop himself from swaying. "What happened?"

"The same thing that's been happening all day, the same thing that is confusing me about his condition. He began to feel what his body was going through."

Dean frowned. "I don't get it. Isn't that a good thing?"

Ellis shook his head. "Not when the drugs we've given him don't stop him from feeling it. He shouldn't have been feeling it… but he did. And he couldn't handle it." The doctor sighed. "It's what I don't get it about Sam. It's like he wants to heal… but he can't. Like something else is stopping his system from reacting. And we don't know what."

Dean had a fair idea, but he wasn't about to elaborate. He nodded, dropping his head. "So Sam's… He's okay, right?"

"He's alive," Ellis argued. "Okay… he's not getting any better, Dean. Look, he's been up and down, gradual ups… and fast drops down. He takes one step forward and maybe ten back. I'm sorry, but… I have no clue how to help Sam."

And he sounded incredibly guilty about that. Dean nodded. "Thank you, doctor. I know you've tried… Can you keep an eye on him tonight?"

Ellis nodded slowly. "Aren't you going to be here though?"

Dean shook his head. "I've got something I have to do. But… if it looks like he's about to… if he stops… can you make sure he's not alone if…"

The doctor somehow managed to make sense of Dean's sudden inability to complete a sentence. Ellis nodded, eyes soft and awed. "I'll do that for you. But -."

Dean didn't stick around to hear. Turning on his heels, he walked away from the stunned doctor.

He had a demon to kill.

* * *

The construction site was strangely chilling in the night, shadowed and dark. There was no light nearby, just the interior light of the Impala shining through the open door. Dean stood leaning against it, trying to appear nonchalant while waiting for the demon to appear. He had the feeling it was out there, watching them, but he couldn't see it.

Morgan stood beside him, slightly tense, almost as if he knew something no one else did and was preparing for the worst. The cop had been true to his word; there were no other officers about, and he hadn't questioned what Dean had told him, however strange the orders might have seemed.

Anya sat in the car behind them, arms bound loosely behind her back to give the appearance of being a captive. She was back in the clothes she had been rescued in, and had rubbed her face with muck, enough to make it look like she had been in a cell for a few days. Anyone who got close enough would know she hadn't, but they were hoping the demon wouldn't get that close.

Ash was off somewhere in the site. Even Dean wasn't sure where, an idea the kid had had to make sure they couldn't even give away Ash's position subconsciously, with a tilt of the head, or a quick glance. He was Plan B. Him and a rifle. They knew it wouldn't kill the demon, but hopefully it would shock it enough for them to gain the upper hand. But that was a last choice, when all other choices were done and dusted. They didn't want to kill the man it was possessing.

Dean shifted on his feet, becoming impatient. Landly had told him that the demon was usually late, but it was twelve-thirty and it was half an hour late. If it didn't show, Dean had no clue what he was going to do. He wasn't going to let Sam die.

A sudden breeze made him stand up straight, tensing and looking about. Morgan was the first to spot the figure though.

"Over there," the cop muttered, and Dean looked where he had nodded. A man was emerging from the night, walking confidently, open trench coat shifting slightly in the wind. Dean gave an involuntary shiver.

"Inspector Gadget eat your heart out," Morgan whispered as they got a better glimpse of the demon. The coat was long, hiding a slender frame under the balck shirt. It was short, shorter than Dean, the kind of man you would barely notice. As it drew nearer, they could make out its face, illuminated slightly by the car's lights. Blue eyes flicked over them, startlingly intelligent, the only part that drew attention, while short brown hair covered its head. Or the head of the man it was possessing, anyway.

It stopped a few feet away from them, frowning. "Where's Mahone?" it asked immediately. Dean shrugged, while Morgan remained silent like the hunter had told him to.

"I always told him his little play thing would get him killed," Dean explained confidently. Morgan didn't even tense as he talked about Mena, a fact that kept Dean confident. The guy was a good actor, and he had to be in order to fool this demon.

The demon cocked its head. "What do you mean?"

Dean grinned. "She shot him. Bang, in the back of the head. Fool didn't even see it coming."

The demon eyed them suspiciously but walked forward a few steps before pausing again. "And who are you?"

"Name's Nixon. I ran Mahone's bar." And a man named Nixon really did run what had been Mahone's bar. Landly had just been adamant that he had never met the demon.

The demon didn't answer for a moment, still eyeing him. "Strange, how you're not so apparently awed by the man as I thought all you shits were," it said finally. Dean gave a shrug.

"A lot of things come out or disappear when a man dies. Mahone was an idiot. He let his emotions get the better of him," Dean told him. "I'm all business."

The demon actually grinned. "And how did you even find out about me, Nixon?"

Dean snorted. "How do you think? Mahone told me."

Its chin rose slightly. "Told you what, exactly."

"Everything," Dean said, putting as much insinuation behind the word as he could muster. The demon's eyes narrowed. "He didn't exactly keep it a secret. Even his little pet managed to find out about it. A few of his dancers. Like I said, guy was an idiot."

"Apparently so," the demon drawled slowly, coming forward again. It crossed its arms, and Dean could have sworn it absently touched something beneath its shirt. He just avoided frowning. "So, do you have my goods?"

Dean drew a breath between his teeth. "I have your good," he responded, emphasizing the lack of a plural. "Morgan, grab the girl."

The cop turned and ducked into the car. Anya made a show of fighting back while the demon's eyes flashed dangerously and Dean took a step forward.

"Where's Winchester?" the demon questioned aggressively. Dean let his eyes widen slightly, as if frightened.

"Mahone had a little… tantrum, when he wouldn't give up his brother. Slashed his throat from ear to ear."

The demon gave no sign that it knew any different. It's eyes hardened, and a snarl formed on its face. "Mahone wouldn't!" it maintained. Dean shrugged.

"Mahone did," the hunter countered as Morgan finally pulled Anya from the car. "About noon today. He was questioning the little brat and the brat refused to give in. Least, that's what Landly told me."

The demon's eyes narrowed. "Where is Landly?"

Dean grinned. "Mourning," he said. It gave him a frown.

"Landly wasn't that close to his boss," the demon told him. Dean's grin widened.

"No, but the fact that a girl beat him up hit pretty close." He turned to Anya, grabbing her from Morgan. "This little wildcat had some fire in her once she found out her boyfriend was dead."

Anya glared at him, tears welling in her eyes. But she remained silent.

It was the demon who filled the silence, anger radiating from that slim form. "You think I give a fucking rat's ass about the girl?" it demanded, sparks all but flying from its eyes. "I wanted the boy. She's worthless… he's…"

Dean shifted as if were about to take a step back, uneasiness tensing his body. He handed Anya back to Morgan. "I can only give you what Mahone left over," he claimed. "The kid's dead, and unless you can raise him from the grave, you're going to have a hard time selling him. But it wasn't my fault!"

The demon shifted its weight, glaring. "Did Mahone get anything out of him before he decided to kill him?"

"About his brother's whereabouts?" Dean asked. He shook his head. "No. The guy's in the city somewhere, but no one's sure where."

Suddenly he heard the cock of a gun somewhere behind him. Gut plummeting, he turned slowly, finding the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his head. And Morgan was the one holding it, the other tight around Anya's arm. She looked genuinely scared.

"Morgan, what the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded, uncertainty creeping through him. The cop grinned ruthlessly at Dean, but didn't speak to him.

"I got an idea where the kid's brother is," he told the demon. Dean's jaw dropped as the cop turned his head to look at the demon. "I'd like to introduce you to one Dean Winchester."

* * *

Um ahhhh…. Has Dean trusted the wrong man? I guess you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out…


	21. Chapter 21: Battle Plans

**Author's Note:** Okay, so this is the third last chapter, it's coming to a close, finally. Well, not finally, it's just been hard finding time to post. Anyways, hope you like this little offering, and the last post will be tomorrow night.

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Chapter 21: Battle Plans

"Morgan, what are you doing?" Dean asked again, glancing quickly behind him to where the demon was smirking, albeit a little curiously, suspiciously, not wanting to trust this sudden turn of events.

"Oh, come on, _McKinley_," Morgan spat. "You can't seriously be that stupid. You really thought I was dragging my ass along for _revenge_?"

Dean gave a subconscious growl. "You traitorous bastard, I trusted you!"

Morgan gave an amused chuckle, laughing so deeply that Dean couldn't help but flinch, before glaring at the cop

"I'm going to kill you," he threatened, snarling unwillingly. Morgan laughed once more, eyes crinkling.

"Now that's something I have to learn. Killing a man who's got a gun on you. Neat trick, seriously."

Dean shook his head, taking a step back. "You son of a bitch."

Morgan chuckled again, before glancing around to a struggling Anya. Snorting and throwing her to the ground, the cop pulled his eyes to Dean. "You really are an idiot," Morgan declared. "I've been in on this for ages. How do you think Mahone stayed out of police hands all this time?"

"You good for nothing… you're good at the back stabbing, aren't you?" Dean spat, not willing to believe it. He shook his head again. "Turning against your own kind, you bastard, how could you?"

The man's eyes flicked quickly to the demon, understanding flooding him. Dean nearly gaped, but took another step back instead. Morgan followed him, moving out of Anya's reach.

"It was that or be on the losing side. Besides, being a cop is so… boring. So I gave Mahone what he needed to know. And then Mena found out…" Real anger flared in his eyes, and Dean frowned, stepping back once more. "The instant I found out what you were up to, I knew I had to come along. I just wasn't sure if you'd be fool enough to fall for it."

Dean growled. "I trusted you…" he said again, denial and betrayal coming through in his voice. Morgan grinned.

"I know. And that's what makes this so much fun."

The shot rang out in the night, and Dean flinched as the bullet flew past, even knowing it was coming. And then, as the demon jumped in shock from the sudden bang that echoed in the construction site, the hunter turned and leapt, tackling the supernatural bitch to the ground.

It cried out in shock, and Dean felt a tremor run through it as he rolled away, unharmed, a triumphant grin plastered on his face. A hand appeared in his vision. Morgan's hand. He took it.

By the time Dean had got to his feet, the demon was on its, face contorted by madness. "It was a trick?" it demanded, as disbelieving as Dean had sounded not a moment before. The hunter shared a look with Morgan, who shrugged.

"Yeah, pretty much," Dean told it, turning back. The demon snarled.

"I'll kill you both!" it screamed, launching at them. Morgan flinched, but Dean just grinned as the demon struck an invisible wall and fell back. Then he looked up to one of the few bits of completed roof. The demon looked up with him, but it was Morgan who spoke upon seeing the symbol on the wood above them.

"So you're a hunter?" Morgan asked, looking at him. "No wonder you didn't involve the cops."

Dean felt his jaw drop for real this time. "Does everyone in this town know about this stuff?" he demanded, shaking his head. He looked around as Anya joined them, rubbing her wrists lightly where the ropes had chaffed them. Dean forced his questions down. "We can talk about this later. For now…" For now they had a demon to kill, and his brother to save. He turned his complete attention back to the demon.

"Let me guess," the demon snapped. "You want me to stop your brother from dying, or you're going to send me screaming back to hell?"

Dean nodded. "Pretty much."

"How'd you know he wasn't dead?" Anya demanded, interrupting. The demon gave her an arrogant glance.

"Give me some credit, girl. I'm connected to him. How do you think I recognised him as a Winchester? I know everything that goes on with him." And that last comment was aimed at the older hunter, who frowned as the demon grinned somewhat evilly at him.

Dean felt his blood run cold. "What did you do to him?" he asked, not really wanting to know. Especially when the demon's grin deepened.

"I put a wall around his ability to sense… what's happening to his body, I guess," it told them. "He doesn't feel anything, so his body doesn't respond like it should." Dean swallowed noisily, and the demon chuckled before continuing. "He's fighting me, he is. He just won't be able to do it for much longer."

Dean ignored it, looking everywhere for its weakness, the one Sam had seen. When he couldn't find it, he looked the demon in the eye. "Knock down the wall," he ordered. "Let him heal."

The demon smirked. "Why would I do that?" it asked innocently. Dean growled and turned to Anya.

"You got it?" he asked. She nodded determinedly and pulled a creased piece of paper out of her pocket. With a stubborn glance at a suddenly uneasy demon, she began reading the Latin.

Dean felt his chin rise, felt the anger flooding his veins. Beside him, Morgan grinned, crossing his arms.

Nothing seemed to happen immediately. The demon watched them, eyes growing brighter second by second, but it didn't move, didn't groan, showed no sign of the exorcism affecting it. Dean felt his heart pounding and hoped this would help Sam.

And then it fell to its knees.

Giving a cry, it put its hands against the invisible wall protecting them from it, arching its back and going white. It was strange, watching it press against nothing, but Dean seemed to be the only one noticing. Anya's voice became louder as she put every ounce of loathing she had behind the exorcism.

It screamed suddenly, hands dropping to the ground as it panted heavily, each intake of breath a labour loud in their ears. And then it looked up at them, grinning even as its eyes danced madly with pain.

"Did you say bye bye to your baby brother, Dean?" it asked in a hoarse, shouted whisper, filled with the pounding it was feeling. The hunter walked forward and squatted in front of it, ignoring Anya's voice as she continued to chant.

"I won't have to," he told it softly, glaring at it. "As soon as your dead, that wall's going to disappear, and Sam's going to start getting better."

The demon grinned up at him. "Yeah, but this little exorcism isn't going to actually kill me, is it Dean. It'll send me back to hell, for sure. But I'll still be alive, as far as demons can be. And that wall's still going to be there. Sam's still going to die!""

Sudden understanding hit Dean hard and he jumped to his feet, eyes wide, staggering backwards. "Stop," he ordered breathlessly. Anya didn't though, couldn't hear his strangled whisper.

"Stop!"

She stumbled to a halt as he shouted at her desperately, looking at him like he had gone mad. Morgan was too. "What's the problem?" the cop asked.

"This isn't going to help Sam," he told them breathlessly. The demon's grin deepened as it struggled to its feet. "It'll only ensure his death."

Dean couldn't believe he hadn't seen it earlier. And he couldn't believe they were in this position.

They were screwed either way though. If he let the demon go, it sure as hell wasn't going to stop Sam from dying. And if he let Anya continue the exorcism, it would go back to hell, but that wall would still be there. Either way he lost his little brother.

He groaned with exasperation, rubbing his eyes as the demon grinned infuriatingly at him. He didn't know what to do. What he wouldn't give to talk to Sam, just for a minute. He had known how to destroy it, Dean was certain of that. But he had no clue.

"Let Sam go," Dean ordered, shocked to hear it come out more as a beg, rather than the cocky, sure commands of a minute ago. The demon chuckled.

"I've got a better idea," it told him. "How about I kill you all?"

The growl was surprisingly loud in the night.

Dean swore under his breath, looking about before turning to Anya and Morgan. He turned to the two, whispering.

"Hellhounds."

Morgan went white, spinning as he heard the growls from all around. "They're real?" he demanded as he turned back to Dean. "What do we do?"

The demon laughed, but Dean spoke over it, keeping his voice calm and strong, not believing Morgan was actually on the verge of breaking down. The guy had been so composed all night, even while pretending to betray them all.

"Get to the car," Dean ordered, giving Morgan a shove. He looked around as Morgan got started, searching desperately for Ash.

Gunshots from a short distance ended his search. The kid's sudden scream chilled his blood.

"Ash!" Anya screamed out, while the demon's laugh just became louder. Cursing, Dean pushed Anya back to the car before she went off after her brother.

"He can look after himself," Dean snapped as Morgan thudded into the car, opening the door and diving in. Further gunshots, this time the bang of a shotgun, showed he was right. "We have to do the same."

He didn't get in after Morgan, but pulled the trunk open and grabbed the two shotguns loaded with rock salt cartridges. He passed one to Anya, trusting her steadiness far more than he trusted Morgan's at this time.

"Shoot where you see the claws," Dean told her, looking to their left. He could just see the room he had had Ash and Anya prepare earlier. Growling, he reached into the car and pulled Morgan out. The demon was still laughing madly, glaring at them all. A hand was beneath his shirt, clutching at something.

Dean almost paused, but a growl to his right made him spin, gun up. The claw marks in the ground were all he needed.

A yelp filled the air as the rock salt hit the demonic hound, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief that it had worked. They had to be there, if the claw marks were, and like when a ghost was shot with rock salt, the mongrel was hurt.

"Anya!" Dean yelled, getting her attention as he heard Ash still firing his gun. Add the growls and yelps of the hellhounds to that, and the once silent construction site seemed a cacophony of noise.

She turned to look at him, and he nodded at the mostly finished room. She looked around to where he was motioning, and nodded with determination. Dean grabbed Morgan by the jacket.

"When I tell you to," Dean instructed, "run to where Anya does. Jump over the door, and don't come out!"

Morgan nodded, some of that attitude coming back into his eyes. He stood up straight and turned as Anya and Dean shared a look. The older hunter nodded, bringing his gun up to cover her.

"Go, Anya!" he shouted, and she sprinted across, two sets of claw marks hot on her tail. Dean aimed and fired, knocking one set of prints off her, and she dived into the room and over the barrier of salt lining the door. She reappeared a moment later, gun ready.

"Go Morgan!" Dean shouted, spinning as he heard movement behind him. He fired the rock salt, knowing it was a matter of life and death.

He missed. The hound jumped on him, sending him sprawling to the ground as it sunk its invisible teeth into his arm.

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So, I don't know if rock salt would actually work or not, but goofer dust seemed to deter them pretty well, and they're along the same lines, I guess. Anyways, hope you liked it, I sure did. Two more chapters to go!


	22. Chapter 22: A Matter of Revenge

**Disclaimer:** Okay, for one last time, I don't own them. How sad is that?

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Chapter 22: A Matter of Revenge

Dean cried out, the pain and blood just as real as it would have been if he had been bitten by a real dog. He pushed at the invisible weight on top of him and it was like pushing against air. He cried out again as the hound twisted.

He heard others approaching, saw the white claw marks out of the corner of his eye. Knowing he was dead if they got to him, he shoved the pain away, though it was brimming in his eyes, and looked for the shotgun he had lost when tackled.

He spied it and reached out with his good arm, his left. The hound growled, letting go of his right arm in order to stop him reaching the gun. His fingers slipped over the barrel.

A shot rang out in the night, and Dean felt the weight of the hound disappear. Another two shots echoed close to him, and another two yelps filled his ears. His hand closed over the gun and he sat up, holding his right arm gingerly.

He turned to find Ash limping towards him, gun up and right leg bloody, but a grim scowl on his face. Dean nodded his thanks at the kid.

"Come on, get inside the room," he ordered. Ash nodded and limped to the salt-lined door.

Dean didn't follow, turning once he was sure Ash was safe behind the line. He could hear the hellhounds regrouping nearby and knew he didn't have a lot of time. But the demon's triumphant laughter was ringing in his ears.

He ran for the demon, unsure of what he was going to do, but determined to do it nonetheless. The demon's chuckles trailed off as it saw him, face contorting into uneasiness and insecurity. Dean grinned at it, letting his injured arm hang free.

Five feet away he chucked the shotgun at it, knowing the weapon was useless. It flinched, bringing its arms up to defend against the throw. And that was when Dean tackled it to the ground.

Arms flailing, it fell, head banging against the ground as it landed outside the circle. Dean didn't care. Its whole body jerked, and Dean just spied something falling from under its shirt.

It glinted in the night air and he took the second that he had to study it. Round and made of iron, it was split into eight by braided strands of what looked like coarse , night-black hair tied to the edges. It shimmered in the dark. Dean gaped as he realized what it was. It was the answer.

His hands snaked forward just as the demon was coming round. It saw what he was aiming for and screamed.

"No!"

The shout rang in Dean's ears, louder than he had ever thought a voice was possible, and twice as desperate. It lashed out at him, but Dean took the blow, wincing at the strength just as his hand closed around the circle on the necklace.

The strength forced him off of the demon, sending him rolling to the side. But the sweet taste of victory filled him as he felt the talisman safe in his hands.

The sounds of gunfire died just as Dean realized Ash and Anya had been shooting at the hellhounds to keep him safe. Now, the hellhounds disappeared, claw marks ending, leaving a feeling of the site being emptier, leaving a safer feel on the air.

The demon panted, real terror forcing its eyes wide as Dean held up his prize. The hunter chuckled and grabbed his lighter from his pocket, ready to burn the fur twined to bind the hellhounds to the demon.

"Wait!" it screamed desperately. Dean surprised himself by doing so, pausing as the flame flickered a few inches beneath the talisman.

"Why should I do that?" the hunter demanded, eyes narrow from hate. "You're killing my brother!"

The demon leaned back, looking about desperately. "Burning that won't kill me though," it told him, taking a step forward. "What makes you think that?"

Dean grinned. "I know the hellhounds won't be very happy with you," he told it. The demon sneered.

"Doesn't mean they'll actually kill me," it responded, eyes crinkling with satisfaction as doubt suddenly surged through Dean. "And then you'll be back where you started. A dying brother and no way to save him."

"Then what do you suggest?" Dean asked. The demon licked its lips, looking about for an answer. And then an idea lit its eyes, and Dean felt the impulse to put the flame closer to the talisman.

"Make a deal with me," it told him. "Let me walk away, and I'll save your baby brother. I'll let him live."

Dean considered the idea for the barest moment before he saw the sudden triumph behind the desperation in its eyes. He snarled.

"No," he spat. "No! You deserve to die. And I think this will do that."

The demon lost control. "Than do it!" it screamed, rage flowing through it. Dean took a shocked step back at the sudden… there was no word to describe the anger it possessed. Something, like flames, flared in its eyes. "See if you can kill me before little Sammy dies!"

Dean's hand paused once more, just long enough, as dread filled him. Just long enough.

The demon lashed out, and Dean went flying. He heard a scream, but could only feel the horror as the talisman was knocked from his grip. He landed in a heap a few feet from where he had stood.

The demon was there instantly, uncaring of anything else in its intense anger. It pulled Dean away from the crumpled heap he had landed in and grabbed his head.

"You shouldn't have messed with me," it snarled. And Dean felt something surge. The site disappeared from view and Dean found himself in a hospital room. One that he recognised.

"Sam!" he screamed, terror flooding his mind as he watched, watched his baby brother dying. Doctors were all around him, talking fast in what seemed like a foreign language to the hunter. They pressed the paddles to his little brother dying and watched Sam jerk. Sudden silence, and then that monotonous line filled the room, for barely an instant before the doctors were shouting again.

"Sammy!" Dean screamed, settling with a jolt back in his own body, knowing in his very soul that what he had just seen was real. And that the demon was causing it.

He lashed out, punching as hard as he could and the demon didn't see it coming. It didn't matter. The demon took the blow like it was nothing and tightened his grip on Dean's head, leaning down closer.

"Just think, Dean. You never had any hope of stopping me," it whispered menacingly in his ear. It cocked its head, grinning infuriatingly.

"You should be thanking me, Dean," it told him. "This way you'll never have to do it yourself."

Dean's blood ran cold. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, his struggles suddenly dying. The demon's grin didn't touch his evil eyes.

"I know Daddy told you. 'Save your brother, Deany'," it cried in a high-pitched voice. The demon laughed, and its voice became deeper, hellish and beyond natural. "Or kill him!"

Dean felt the world spin as his father's last orders were spat back at him, orders he had ignored as the hallucinations of a dying man. Until now. Anger flared.

"You bastard!" he screamed, lashing out again. It did no good; the demon swatted away his efforts like it was nothing, grabbing his good hand at the last minute. Once more Dean's blood ran cold, Anya's words distant in his mind.

… _the demon seals its deals with a handshake…_

The demon grinned madly, and Dean stilled, suddenly uncaring. Because he could see Sam's death in its eyes.

The demon leaned down, and the world seemed to move in slow motion. He could almost feel the pulse of the magic behind the deal as the demon prepared, as it gathered its strength and…

And nothing. Nothing hit Dean and he opened eyes he didn't remember closing as the demon screamed out once more.

"NO!"

Dean's ears shook with the volume, and he flinched away, blinking as something within the demon seemed to snap. It leaned back, and then stumbled to its feet, hands up, looking at its palms. And then it turned around, eyes fearful, entire body trembling with terror.

Dean looked up at what it was staring at and saw Anya lowering her arm. In the same hand she held a small lighter, while in the other dangled the talisman. Or rather, what had been the talisman, and what was now just an iron ring, the smell of scorched hair heavy.

Suddenly it shrieked, looking about, searching. Dean got to his elbows, moving uneasily, body sore, arm thumping. He heard the claw marks return, saw them scrape the concrete ground as each set turned with the demon centred between them.

And then, with snarls sharp in the night, they turned on the demon. Dean felt each one of them lunge, though he couldn't see any of it, only the results.

The demon fell to its knees, shielding its head with its arms. It didn't help. The demonic dogs ripped into it, and blood appeared on the man it was possessing.

And then suddenly the claw marks were back, nails digging into the ground, as the hellhounds dragged the demon to the ground, reducing it to a mound sheltering uselessly.

As Dean watched, the hellhounds became louder and louder, marks moving backwards as if they were pulling on something. And what looked like a black lump began to grow on the back of the demon.

No, no lump, but a black shadow, a cloud infused with night. And the hellhounds were pulling it from the man.

It didn't take them long to exorcise the demon from the form it was possessing. The man slumped unconscious to the ground as Dean's jaw dropped. The demon shrieked once more, an unearthly, night-shattering cry that just about ripped through them. He saw Anya flinch out of the corner of his eye, but knew she was watching, steadfast.

But the hellhounds didn't stop there. Their jaws were locked on the demon's true form and its terrible shriek did nothing to dissuade them. They kept right on pulling, pulling and pulling until the demon was stretched, cries filling the air, so terrible that Dean almost felt like covering his ears.

And then it fell apart, for real.

That black cloud fell apart, like it was exploding, but only horizontally. Dean, already on the ground, felt the acrid smell of sulphur pass like wind over his head, but the others weren't so lucky.

The force hit them in the stomach, and they all three flew backwards, landing on their behinds a few feet from where they had been. For a moment they lay still, and Dean's heart pounded once, twice. And then they all three groaned, sitting up and studying the construction site.

Silence filled the air, almost eerie after everything that had happened that night. Feeling tired, Dean stumbled to his feet, almost falling but catching himself in time. He walked over to Anya and helped her to her feet.

Morgan and Ash were already dusting themselves off. Ash was still limping, wincing as he tested his leg carefully.

Dean looked away to where the possessed man was laying still. He and Morgan shared a look, before crossing the site to him.

Dean rolled him over and checked for a pulse, ignoring the scratches and bruises forming from where the hellhounds had dragged the demon from his body. He found a beat, surprisingly strong after all he had endured. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at the other three. Anya was holding Ash up.

"He's alive. We should get him to the hospital. And I think we all need it too."

At his own mentioning of the hospital, Dean felt his gut drop and dread filled him. The demon had been killing Sam. Had the hellhounds destroyed it in time? He didn't know, but he hoped to God that his brother was still alive.

He didn't say anything, just hurried Anya and Morgan along as they manoeuvred the unconscious man into the back of the Impala. Then, tyres squealing, they sped back to the hospital.

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So, last chapter now!


	23. Chapter 23: Covering Up

**Author's Note:** Sooo, this is the last chapter, you know, that regulation 'finish up' chapter, all lovey-dovey… well, not like that, but bit of a chick-flick moment. Anyways, thanks to everyone who's reviewed, and I hope everyone's enjoyed this story!

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Chapter 23: Covering Up

"Then they rushed the guy off to patch him up. A doctor took a good look at Ash's leg, and my arm, told us we'd live." Dean gave a chuckle, absently scratching at the bandage around the arm the hellhounds had bitten. "We told them we had come across the guy being attacked by a pack of dogs. Not too far from the truth really."

The hunter sighed and leaned forward on the bed, determined not to be down. His eyes roved over Sam's form. His still unconscious form.

Still, Dean wasn't going to be upset by that. According to Doctor Ellis, Sam was a miracle. Last night he had been all but gone, crashing about one in the morning. When the demon had been killing him. And then, just as they were about to call it… Sam's heart had started again. The doctors couldn't believe it.

Dean could. Sam always had been a stubborn guy. Like now. It was noon the next day and he was refusing to wake up. He was off the ventilator, for which Dean was thankful. He hated seeing Sam on that. And he was healing. In fact, Ellis said Sam was healing faster than normal. Just another step on the miracle, the doctor said.

Dean shifted on his seat. He had told Sam what had happened twice already. No response still. He sighed again and leaned back, continuing.

"I couldn't believe Morgan," he said with a shake of his head. "Guy calls himself a weekend hunter. Hunts on his time off and when there's something in the city. I guess that's why we've never actually been here before. Knew it was a demon after checking out Mahone's little lair, the one that was supposed to be his parent's place. Found traces of sulphur and everything. Not bad, I guess."

He paused, eyes roving once more, though this time he was checking the monitors. The one for his heart was steady, strong, calm. Ellis was beyond relieved at that fact. Apparently Sam's heart had gone back to normal almost immediately. And his pneumonia was fast disappearing.

He chuckled, turning his sight to his hands. "I gotta say, the cop came in handy. I don't think we could have taken the demon without him. Though he did kinda panic when the hellhounds showed up. And he was kinda useless after that. But I think that was because he didn't have a gun. Still, first time a cop's come in handy. Well, not including that chick with those hicks. Or whatshisname, Holden, back with those vampires. But the rest of the time…"

He trailed off, looking down at Sam once more. Then he looked away, feeling frustrated. He just wished his little brother would wake up. Ellis had spouted some prattle about his body needing to rest, but Dean found he didn't care. He just wanted Sam back.

He sighed, rubbing his face and looking down as he leaned back. This chair was so uncomfortable. Shifting for the thousandth or so time, he gave another chuckle.

"I saw Landly again this morning," he told his unconscious brother for the third time. "Damn near shit himself. I swear he started hyperventilating, the freaking pussy."

"You made him wet his pants?"

The hoarse, whispered question made Dean jump to his feet, heart pounding. Sam was moving, eyes flickering beneath closed eyelids. But he had spoken. His eyes weren't open, but he had spoken.

Dean grabbed Sam's hand. "Sammy, can you hear me?"

Sam mumbled something else sleepily, apparently falling back to unconsciousness. Dean felt a trill of fear.

"Hey, Sammy, open your eyes for me." No response. "Sammy, come on, you can do it. Just open your eyes, come on."

Sam groaned, shifting his head. But his lids fluttered, and his eyes opened and Dean had to lock his knees to stop from collapsing with the relief he had flooding his system.

"Man, isn't that a sight for sore eyes," Dean whispered, grinning idiotically. He thought he had good reason.

Sam gave a half smile, looking around. "What happened?" he asked, eyes coming back to rest on Dean.

The older brother took his seat again, not letting go of Sam's hand. What had he been saying about that? He didn't care.

"I found you, Sammy. Got you out of there. How you feeling?"

Sam shrugged and then winced, half lifting his hand in an attempt to put it over his injured shoulder. It fell back before it rose more than five inches.

"Like I was run over by a car," he said, wincing. He was still hoarse, but Dean didn't even hear it. He grinned a little more.

"You kind of were, Sam," he told his little brother. Sam gave him a disparaging glance.

"I know, I remember. Can I have a drink?"

Den jumped, hearing Sam's hoarseness for the first time. "Absolutely, sorry." He grabbed a glass he had been using and placed it at Sam's lips. He paused as his little brother drank, but continued as he put the glass back. "How much do you remember?"

He had to know, but his resolve was almost shattered as Sam glanced away, blinking back memories. The younger man shook his head.

"Everything," he said. "Even when I shouldn't. I know I was out of it after what the demon did… but I remember all that." He gave a weak chuckle. "I thought you weren't real."

Dean smiled with him. "I know. You said I smelled funky."

Sam's nose wrinkled. "You did. What had you done, gone swimming in shit?"

Dean laughed, more from relief than anything. He cut off as the door opened and Ellis walked in, shocked.

"Sam, you're awake!"

The younger man looked at Dean, who smiled comfortingly. "This is your doctor, Doctor Ellis."

Sam looked back at the man. "Hi," he greeted uneasily.

Ellis nodded back, smiling. "How are you feeling?" he asked, grabbing a tiny light from his pocket.

Sam avoided shrugging this time. "Tired. Sore. Sore. But I think that's a good thing."

Ellis nodded, only half-listening. "Opposed to what you were feeling yesterday, yes."

Sam looked at Dean again. "What was I feeling yesterday?" he asked, stare flicking between the two men. Ellis shook his head.

"Nothing," he explained. "At least, most of the time. And that was bad." Sam nodded in agreement. "But you're getting better now. I'll be back later to explain some things, answer your questions." He shot a look at Dean. "But for now I think I'll give you two some time."

Dean thanked him with a glance and watched him leave. When he turned back, Sam was frowning. "What is it?" Dean asked, mirroring the look.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. How's Ash and Anya?"

"Didn't you hear me telling you?" Dean asked with a grin. When Sam shook his head, confused, the older man shrugged. "They're fine. Ash has a sore leg, but it's not broken or anything. Some holy water in the car cleaned up the hellhound wounds pretty well."

Sam frowned again. "Hellhounds?" he demanded. "So you managed to kill the demon then?"

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "Give me some credit, Sammy. Besides," he added, losing his good-naturedness and smiling sadly. "You wouldn't be alive if I hadn't. Well, actually the hellhounds did…" He trailed off as Sam looked away, and he felt the air grow tense with discomfort. Dean sighed mentally.

"Sam, Anya told me…" he began. Sam snapped his head around, eyes glinting somewhat dangerously.

"Told you what?" he asked, voice hollow. Dean shrugged, refusing to look away.

"Everything," he replied. "As much as she knew. And I'm just saying, if you ever need to… you know…"

Sam cut him off by looking away and closing his eyes. When he looked back, he was Dean's strong little brother once more. "I'm fine… Well, not fine, exactly, but I will be. Thanks Dean, but no thanks. I'd rather just forget it."

Dean nodded, probably far too quickly. "Just, you know, if you ever need it… just say the word."

Sam smiled. "I will. Thanks." He paused, before grinning again. "So how exactly did you get rid of the demon?"

Dean glanced at him before smiling. Leaning forward, he settled down to tell the story for a fourth time.

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Evening found Sam sitting by himself in the hospital garden. He watched the sun set, so glad that he could. If he focused on that swollen ball of weak light, he could almost drown out his own screams.

He sat on the bench to the side, unaware Dean had occupied the same space just over twenty-four hours earlier. He sat a little uncomfortably, the bullet wound in his hip making it hard. His arm was in a sling, held close to his side, and the doctor, Ellis, had said he would have to have it on for a while yet. He hated the damn thing already.

But he was alive. And that was all he cared about.

He heard Dean coming long before he saw his older brother. Could hear the pounding feet, questions, demands aimed at no one in particular and anyone who would answer. Sam supposed he shouldn't have just left the room by himself like that. Even if he had taken his IV stand with him… most of the way.

Dean raced across the windows looking into the garden, and Sam chuckled as he almost missed seeing his younger brother sitting on the bench to the side. The older hunter did a double take, pausing and twisting his body almost comically. Then, giving a furious scowl, his brother pushed the door open and stormed over.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean demanded as soon as he was close enough. Sam smiled comfortingly at the garden's other occupant, an old man in a wheelchair, and the man grinned back, all-knowing. Then the younger hunter slid over on the bench with a wince, making room for Dean. His brother took the seat instantly, turning to watch Sam.

"What were you thinking?" Dean asked again, somewhat gentler this time. "You shouldn't be walking about yet. Christ, you only woke up a few hours ago."

Sam gave him one of those shit-eating grins. "I had to get away from Anya and Ash. I mean, they're great, but they're worse than you when it comes to mothering."

Dean looked torn between amusement and indignation. Sam gave a snort of laughter, and Dean shook his head.

"Well, you seem a lot better," he observed, sitting around in the seat to watch the sun as well. Sam gave a half-shrug with his uninjured shoulder.

"As well as can be," he muttered back. Dean nearly flinched, but ignored it.

"Do you know how freaked Ellis was when he found you gone? And then when he found the stand. Nice ditch by the way, a broom cupboard, I like."

The younger man grinned. "It's an art…" he trailed off, losing his good mood. "I went to see that couple."

Dean gave a start. "What?"

Sam half-shrugged again. "I wanted them to know I was sorry."

Dean looked away, glancing down. "What did they say?" he asked quietly. Sam looked away as well.

"Nothing," Sam answered hopelessly. "They didn't want to see me."

Dean gave a growl. "They just don't understand, Sam," he began, but Sam shook his head, interrupting.

"No, they know about what happened. Why I told about their room. But they're still… not angry, I guess, but still working through it. It's going to take them awhile, I think." The younger man sighed. "I guess that by the time they actually do though, we'll be long gone. It doesn't matter."

Dean shifted uncomfortable. "We're not going anywhere for a while yet, Sammy. You've got a lot of rehab to work through, getting your shoulder back to full strength."

Sam shrugged again, testing said shoulder as he did so. "We'll see. It's not like we've never skipped out on that stuff before."

Dean nodded. "True. But we've never been shot before. We'll see how we go, hey?"

Sam nodded and they fell into silence, both watching the sun as it set above the hospital roof.

"Did Dad say anything to you?" Sam asked after a moment. He glanced across at Dean. "Before he died."

Dean paused before answering, feeling his heart thud, and putting on one of those confused looks. "Like what?" the older man asked carefully. Sam shrugged, wincing as he forgot about his shoulder.

"Like… don't worry. Never mind." He sighed, looking away.

Dean shifted on the bench, not believing he was about to say any of this. "Dad said…" he began, before trailing off. Sam looked back at him. "He said, that he loved us," the older hunter said, looking down. "Told us to be careful. That he was proud of us." His voice began to choke as he continued, and it wasn't all for the grief he still felt. "And he told me to watch out for you. To keep you safe. Told me to tell you to watch out for me, too."

"And that was it?" Sam asked, looking up at the setting sun. Dean nodded.

"That was it."

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, and even the sunlight raining down on them didn't seem so great. Dean glanced away, slightly uncomfortable. He could never remember a time when he had lied to Sam like this before. He could already feel he weight.

And then Sam, oblivious to Dean's sudden burden, smiled and chuckled. Dean frowned at him.

"What?"

Sam chuckled once more, looking Dean square in the eye. "I can't believe Landly actually pissed himself."

Dean laughed as well, and even though it started out hollow, he felt the warmth fill him again. And they laughed together, watching the sun set on their problems for another day.

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So, just wanted to get it kinda back on track with the show, with Dean's all emotional stuff and etc, etc.

Anyways, hoped you liked it, and there will be more. I mean, if you want…


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